If I Never Knew You
by thewhitekitten
Summary: Cora just wanted to be left alone, but The Island had other ideas. What's worse than being surrounded by fictional strangers who swear they know you? Being asked to fill the shoes of an island deity, for starters. Life as an introverted Catholic is difficult, but love is even more so, especially when you're being romantically pursued by the enigma that is Benjamin Linus. AU
1. An Unexpected Arrival

**Welcome aboard the crazy train. **

**What to Expect: In my personal opinion, Benjamin Linus was completely cheated out of a romantic subplot. This is my attempt to remedy that. Expect high levels of angst and _lots_ of death. ****Although this is an intrinsically Ben/OC story, it will feature the majority of the characters from the show.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own LOST or Benjamin Linus. Unfortunately. If I did, well, you can use your imagination. [insert suggestive wink]**

**Also, I'm writing this out of love for the show and not for any sort of profit. I am but a humble fan of this magnificent series.**

* * *

I awake to the shrill screams of a panicked woman. I can smell smoke and ash and something else . . . something faintly clean. The stark contrast confuses my senses, and my eyes flicker open just as I finally register what the clean smell is. It's the ocean.

The soft fluttering of my heart begins to beat wildly out of control as I struggle to piece together my surroundings. I was curled up on my dorm room bed when I dosed off not too long ago, and now warm sand sifts through my fingers as I scoot myself into a sitting position.

_Sand? SAND? Where am I? What's going on?_

I sit in a confused stupor as the world around me carries on in complete chaos. Men and women run screaming in all directions, their words blurring together in disharmony.

The man nearest me bellows, "WALT!"

This snaps me out of my lethargic trance, and I push my aching body to my feet, stumbling half blind in the general direction of the screaming mob. Behind us a massive whirling plane engine belches out thick black smoke and causes bursts of air to fling sand all over the place. I have to cover my eyes to keep from going blind.

_A nightmare. I'm having a nightmare._

Which isn't really that big of a surprise. I was in the middle of a LOST re-watching marathon with a few girls from my University when I dosed off, so I suppose a LOST themed nightmare was bound to happen.

My foot gets caught on a chunk of debris, and I stumble forward onto my hands and knees.

A pair of strong arms hoist me up. A man's gruff voice is in my ear, yelling, "Get out of the way! Move!" I recognize the voice as Sawyer's just as he gives me a strong shove, causing me to go sprawling out in the sand a few feet away. When I look back, I find a massive flaming hunk of metal where I had been just seconds before. Sawyer is nowhere to be found.

_Just keep moving. Keep moving._

Somehow I scrape and claw my way to the ocean, far away from the remains of Oceanic 815. A young woman kneels in the water beside me, sobbing with abandon. I'm so exhausted that all I can manage to do is collapse in the wet sand on the shoreline, gasping desperately for air, and praying with all my might that I wake up from this nightmare soon.

* * *

When I do manage to wake up, the sun has disappeared. Someone has built a roaring fire and dragged me near it. I scoot away from its heat.

That's when I notice that multiple fires have been lit all along the beach. People sit hunched over near the flames, talking quietly amongst themselves.

"The princess has awoken." Sawyer stands over me with a lazy smirk on his lips. "Has the Doc looked at your head yet?" he asks.

I have no idea what he's talking about, and it frustrates me. "Huh?" I grunt.

Sawyer squats down and reaches for my forehead with what looks like gauze. A sharp pain bolts through my skull, and I quickly pull away from his touch. "Ouch!" I roar. "Don't touch me!"

Sawyer stands and holds out his hands in surrender before wandering off down the beach.

I reach up and gently tap the spot where Sawyer did. When I pull my hand away, my fingers are covered in blood. For the first time in a long time I question myself for switching career goals. Why didn't I finish nursing school? I would be better prepared to deal with this madness right now.

I lay down in the sand and fight to keep the nausea at bay. A man's figure is suddenly standing over me, and in my blissful delirium I think Sawyer has come back to tend to my wounds.

But it turns out the man is Jack. I want to ask so many questions, but my head injury has scrambled my brain. Besides, I'll be waking up from this dream soon, so what's the point?

Before I doze off for a second time, I hear Sawyer's voice through the clouded fogginess of sleep. He came back after all.

"Heads pretty messed up, Doc," says Sawyer. "Think she's gonna be okay?"

"I don't know," Jack answers. "We'll have to wait and see."


	2. Dizzy Dilemmas

To say that I'm panicked when I wake up the next morning would be a gross understatement. I pinch myself multiple times, and the pain feels real. The pulsing wound on my forehead feels real. I've had some pretty realistic dreams before, but this one definitely takes the cake.

I find a secluded clump of palm trees away from the wreckage and have myself a nice little mental breakdown.

"It's happened," I say aloud. "It's finally happened. I've lost touch with reality."

I can clearly see Sun and Jin from my hiding spot. Jin is digging around in the ocean for edible sea creatures. _Wait, when did that happen? Episode 1? 2? 3? I can't remember!_

The gash on my head begins to throb painfully, so I wobble my way through camp in search of Jack.

Instead, I find Sawyer. He whistles when he sees me. "Stop leaking blood all over my beach," he jabs playfully. "Why don't you go take a nap, Doublemint?"

"Doublemint?" I look up, confused, and notice that he's chewing gum.

He pulls out a pack and tosses it at me. "Found that in your pocket last night."

Even through the dizziness I can feel embarrassment flaring up. I want to say something snarky, but I'm too tired to think. I frown in his general direction before continuing my slow shuffle in search of Jack. "You stole my gum?"

Sawyer smirks. "I figured you owed me, you know, for saving your life. Is that not worth a piece of gum to you?"

I don't have time for this. Something is obviously wrong with my mind. Maybe I'm in a coma? Maybe I'm in a psych ward, and all these people are just crazy patients that my mind has twisted to appease the fangirl within? Whatever the case may be, I'm tired of it.

I stumble past Sawyer and promptly pass out.

* * *

If someone back home were to tell me that I would be spending the rest of my life trapped in some sort of parallel dimension with a group of fictional characters on an island that doesn't exist . . . I would have scheduled them an appointment with a psychiatrist.

But here I am—an unexplained anomaly existing within a fictional realm of incomprehensible implausibility.

"Please don't wander around anymore," Jack tells me as he finishes tying a fresh bandage around my skull. "Your head laceration hasn't had time to seal shut yet, so you may feel dizzy and nauseous for the next few days."

"Okay," I answer.

Jack takes a look around the makeshift tent I'm squeezed under. I can read pity in his eyes. "I need to attend to the other survivors. Do you need anything . . . I'm sorry. I don't even know your name."

"Cora," I answer. "And yes. If you can, I'd like something to write on and write with."

_Alright. I'll play along. But if I'm going to play this game, I'm going to play it right._

Jack returns sometime later with a pen and an empty notebook. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. It's one of the only things that can calm me down. My love of words is what prompted me to change my major. Although, now I'm seriously doubting it was for the best.

I write "People to Befriend" at the top of one piece of paper and "People to Avoid" on another.

I start with the Avoid list. _John Locke. Walt. Michael. Shannon. Boone. Ana Lucia. Artz. Nikki and Paulo. Mr. Eko._

Next I move onto the friends list. _Hugo. Jack. Claire. Charlie. Desmond. Rose. Bernard._

Those are the safest characters I can think of. There's still a whole page left, so I draw a line under that and label it "Maybe's". _Kate. Sayid. Sun and Jin. Sawyer._

"What'cha sketching?"

I look up in annoyance and shield my paper from Sawyer's prying eyes. "Are you stalking me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm just enjoying my freedom as an American." He waves his arms. "This here beach belongs to all of us. I can walk wherever I want. For all I know _you _are stalking _me_." And as soon as he arrives, he's gone.

I roll my eyes and look back down at my list. Sure, Sawyer becomes a great guy near the end of Season 4, but I don't have time to wait for that much character development. There are only two reasons why Season 1 Sawyer befriends people. One, he wants something from them—medicine, guns, books. Two, he wants to get in their pants.

_Ha. Not likely._

_But he's already stolen my only belonging, so why does he keep bothering me?_

I shake this thought away and return my attention to the list. Something is missing, but I can't pinpoint what it is.

"Hey, Dude. You hungry?"

A big stupid grin pulls at my lips. I can't help it. Everybody loves Hurley. "Yeah, thanks."

"How's your, uh," Hurley reaches up and taps his forehead.

"Hurts like the Dickens. But Jack says I'll live."

"Cool, cool. So, uh, do you want chicken or beef? They're day old enchiladas. And they're airline food, so try not to be too disappointed."

I laugh and take a chicken tray. "Thanks, Hurley."

"I'm sorry, have we met?"

Oh snap. "No. Well, not formally. I heard it around camp," I lie. "You're pretty popular."

He seems pleased to hear this. "So, you are?"

"Cora."

"It's nice to meet you, Cora."

"You too."

My heart is racing because of my lie. Lying is wrong, and I'm usually terrible at it, but I need to keep quiet about how much I really know about these characters.

I turn back to my list and ponder who I'm forgetting to label. Suddenly, a gratuitous amount of sand spills all over me and my list.

"Hey, sorry about that," a man apologizes.

I dust myself off and smile up at the man struggling to drag a large suitcase past me. But as soon as I recognize him, I have to fight to keep my smile in place. The man is Ethan, the Other who kidnaps Claire, hangs Charlie, and is eventually shot in the chest by one of the survivors.

And that's when it hits me.

The Others. I've forgotten to label the Others.


	3. What?

"My name's Ethan."

"Mine's Cora," I blurt out automatically. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! _As soon as I say it, I wish desperately to take it back. _Your name is not in the manifest, you idiot! _

"Cora?" I watch as Ethan's expression morphs from a casual smile to a slightly confused smirk to a brief pensive stare before his lips pull back up into a much less enthusiastic grin. "Nice to meet you." His eyes travel the length of my face. "How's your head?"

"I'll live. Well, according to Jack."

He drops his suitcase in the sand and brushes off his hands. "You mind if I take a look?"

"Uhhhh." I glance around nervously, even though I realize my fear is irrational. I'm surrounded by survivors. It's not like Ethan can do anything. "You're a doctor?" I ask, even though I already know the answer is yes.

"Sure am," he answers happily.

"From where?"

"Canada," he replies automatically.

For some reason, I want to laugh. In fact, the urge to laugh hysterically is starting to overpower all other sensations. That's probably not a good sign. "Well, okay. My mom always said to get a second opinion."

_Mom. Oh, God. I had forgotten all about her and the rest of my family._ I begin to panic. _Are they here too? And if not, where are they? Alive? Dead? Will I ever see them again?_

"Are you okay?" Ethan regards me with an air of confusion. "What's so funny?"

It's bad enough that I'm socially awkward and can't interact normally with other human beings. But to top it all off, I'm a nervous laugher. In case you don't know what that entails, it basically means that nine out of ten times if something upsets me I'll start laughing instead of crying. It usually plagues me at the absolute worst, most inappropriate of times. My best friend once told me that her grandfather had passed away, and I laughed. We're not best friends anymore.

I blame my laughter on my head trauma and allow Ethan to assess the wound. "Has anyone found antibiotics?" he asks. "Neosporin? Any medicine of that nature?"

I shrug. "I'm the wrong person to ask about that sort of thing. I've been passed out for a good chunk of the time we've been here."

"I'll keep an eye out for some," he says, still smiling like a maniac as he continues to pull his suitcase down the beach. "I'll be back later to check up on you."

I want to tell him, _Not needed, thanks! _but I've been so sufficiently weirded out that I simply watch him disappear down the beach instead. Talk about creepy.

As the day drags on, I grow bored. Life in early Season 1 isn't exactly as exciting as I pictured it would be. Not without all the editing out of menial tasks the survivors must do. I spend an hour watching a lady dig a latrine in the sand. _A latrine in the freaking sand! _Being forced into a stationary lifestyle is driving me nuts.

Luckily, before I go crazy enough to do something stupid, Jack seeks me out to check my bandage. I find myself burdened with conversation. "I'm going to ask you a few questions to check your memory. It would be better if I could give you a PET Scan, just to be sure, but unfortunately I don't see that happening anytime soon."

"Okay."

"Tell me your full name," he says.

"Cora June Collins."

"Your birthday?"

"December 19, 1994."

He gives me a look. "Are you sure?" he asks.

I pause, thinking up reasons why he would bother asking for confirmation. "Yes?"

"So, you're 10 years old?"

Crap. "Did I say 1994? I meant 1984." A lie just seems to create itself. "Sorry about that. I was getting ready to prepare for my little sister's birthday before the crash. She was born in 1994."

"I see," says Jack. "Can you recite the ABC's?"

"Yes."

Jack laughs. "No, I mean can you recite them for me?"

I feel my cheeks growing warm as I recite them.

"Where was our flight taking off from?"

"Sydney, Australia." I feel like I'm playing a game of Trivial Pursuit: The LOST Edition. At least I'm winning.

"It looks like your long term and short term memory seem to be fine."

"Huzzah."

Jack laughs again. "Huzzah indeed. You're one of the lucky ones. There's another woman who was hit on the head, and she can't remember a thing past her thirteenth birthday. Apparently she's twenty-six."

"That's . . . that's horrible." I'm glad to still have my memories. Well, I'm thankful for the happy memories, at least. I can't imagine a world without the memory of my mother.

Thinking about my mother has reminded me that she may be here. "Have you seen a woman that looks like me? She looks like me, but she has dark hair. Her name is Marguerite." I try to push myself to my feet, but Jack holds me down.

"You need to calm down," he urges.

"No, I need to find my mother!" Standing makes me nauseous beyond belief, and to my horror I bend over and vomit all over the front of Jack's shirt.

Perfect. Just the cherry on top of another perfect day in the trainwreck that is my life.

"I'm sorry," I groan.

"No, it's okay."

"I'm sorry," I repeat.

"Don't worry about it. Just, please lay back down."

Everyone within earshot is staring at me. I hate it. I hate being the center of attention. I hate it more than anything I can think of. Which is probably the reason why I love books so much. It's easy to get people to ignore you when you're reading.

Too embarrassed to complain, I lie back down on my blanket in the sand and throw myself a pity party.

Nobody talks to me for the rest of the day. From what I can tell, Jack, Kate and Charlie have already ventured off and found the pilot in the jungle. The Marshal that arrested Kate isn't dead yet because I can hear him moaning in pain.

Hurley makes his rounds at night and distributes the last remaining pieces of food—some papayas and airline peanuts.

"Tonight we feast like kings," I tell him, holding up the pathetic portion of food.

He smiles, but doesn't stay to chat. He's probably afraid I'll vomit on him.

Dang. If Hurley doesn't even want to be around me, I'm in serious trouble. It's time to make some friends.

* * *

I wake up to find Ethan sitting cross-legged beside me, one of his hands brushing lightly through my hair.

I scream, startled by his close proximity.

"Sorry," he says, wincing and holding out a hand in surrender. I watch as he pockets a few shiny strands of my hair. "I've been waiting for you to wake up."

"Did you just take some of my hair?" I start scooting away. "_Did you seriously just take some of my hair?"_

"No," he answers too quickly.

"I'm getting Edward Cullen vibes from you, pal. You need to leave me alone."

His brows furrow in confusion. "Edward who? Nevermind. I came to show you the antibiotics I found!" He holds up two orange medicine bottles and shakes the pills inside. His creepy smile has returned. "A few days of these and you should be feeling fine."

"Thanks." I take the bottles and go to read the label, only to find that it has been peeled off. "Really, thanks," I say, waiting for him to leave.

He stays put in the sand next to me. "What was your name again?" he asks suddenly.

"Cora."

"That's pretty. How do you spell that?"

Something very wrong is going on, and it's making me nervous.

"You should really take one of those pills now, so it can start working. I brought you some water." Ethan holds out a bottle of Oceanic water and stares me down with that awful smile of his.

And that's when I decide that there is no way in hell that I'm taking these pills.

Thank God Jack chooses this moment to check on me. "Morning, Cora. How's the nausea?"

Before I can even respond, Ethan asks, "Nausea?" He turns his attention to me. "What other symptoms do you have?"

_Ethan has obviously not yet heard about my embarrassing vomit story. But how could that be? The whole camp must know by now._

Then I remember. _Ah, that's right. It's because he leaves every night to check back in with the Others._

_ Yep. He is definitely trying to poison me._

"Ethan found antibiotics," I tell Jack, practically throwing the medicine bottle at him. "I think you should distribute them evenly amongst the people with the worst injuries."

Ethan shoots up and reaches for the bottle. "_You_ have one of the worst injuries. _You_ need them the most. I found them, so I should get a say in who gets them!" He turns to Jack. "Right?"

Jack contemplates in silence. "Where are the labels?" Popping open the lid on one of the bottles, Jack shakes out a pill and inspects it.

"I don't need medicine," I cut in. "I can feel my cut scabbing over already. I'd just be wasting it."

I turn to gage Ethan's reaction, but he has already stealthily disappeared into the jungle without so much as a rustle to alert me of his disappearance. I want no part in this medicine fiasco, so I am overjoyed when Jack's attention is called elsewhere. Doctor mode engaged, he pockets the medicine and hurries to help a distressed woman. Once again, I find myself utterly alone.

"Doublemint's a sacrificial saint. Would you look at that."

For the first time since I've been stuck here, I'm actually glad to hear that voice. "You've called me that already. Can't you think of another nickname?" I beg him. "Please? Anything. Anything at all. I'd like some variety."

"Sorry, no exchanges or refunds." He pulls a cigarette out of the carton and starts to light up.

"You're going to get lung cancer and die," I tell him.

"Oh, really?" he scoffs. "What are you, the cancer police?"

"You saved my life. I'm only trying to return the favor."

He pauses, the unlit cigarette dangling from between his lips, before finally returning it to the carton and shoving it in his back pocket. "You're a real pain in my ass. You know that?"

I smile triumphantly.

"Sawyer, I—oh." Kate pauses when she sees me. "Hey, uh, Cora, right?"

"That's me," I say.

"Kate. Nice to meet you. How's your head?"

"I'll be alright."

"Glad to hear it. Sawyer, do you know where the manifest is? Apparently Hurley's looking for it."

"What's Stay Puft need the manifest for?"

"I don't know," says Kate. "He said something about taking down everyone's names."

"He's double checking the manifest?" Sawyer looks interested. "Why would he need to do that?"

Kate's eyes dart in my direction, and then she leans in close and says something to Sawyer. The two of them wander off without another word to me.

I reach under my blanket where I buried my list and cross off Kate from the Maybe's list and add her to Enemies.

I know, I know. I'm being childish. But, dang it, I'm bored out of my mind and Sawyer was the only one willing to spend time with me.

I bury my list and ponder the bigger problem at hand. The Manifest. _Am I on it? And if I'm not, what's going to happen to me? _In the show, when the survivors found out that Ethan wasn't on the Manifest, he just ran back to his people for shelter and protection. But where would _I_ go?

I test out my legs and find, to my great relief, that I can stand without dizziness or nausea. My legs are sore and stiff, and it takes a few minutes to get used to standing on ever-shifting, unstable sand. Standing, however, has alerted my bladder that it hasn't been emptied in at least 2 days. This is an emergency situation.

When I feel confidant in my walking abilities, I break the number one rule of LOST. I wander into the jungle. Alone.

Not far, mind you. Never far enough to where I couldn't see camp if I turned around. There's just no way that I'm going to pee in front of these people. The woman who dug the latrine dug it within eyesight of the entire camp. Not my cup of tea, thank you.

I go far enough to be secluded, but not far enough not to still see one of the tents erected on the beach. I'm lucky enough to find a hollow space within a tree trunk, so I'm shielded from all sides.

I once held my pee in all day when I was at Disneyland, back when I was four and my life was bearable. I kid you not, nothing is as satisfying as releasing a full bladder.

Emptying my bladder has reminded me how hollow my stomach is. I'm not used to being hungry. My mother was always feeding anyone and everyone who came into our house. It was a big part of her Italian upbringing.

"Ugh, what I wouldn't give for a whole chocolate bar."

It begins to rain, and my pee is washed away.

Fancy that. It really is like a toilet.

On my way back to camp, I—quite literally—run into Charlie. He slams into me and I fall backwards into a mud puddle.

He looks stunned. "Sorry! I'm so sorry. Here, let me help you." He reaches out and pulls me to my feet.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" I ask, slightly annoyed.

"Uh, the little men's room," he says, darting off deep into the jungle.

_I wonder if he really does have to use the bathroom, or if that was an excuse for him to go get high?_ I shake my head in disappointment.

Now that I can walk, I spend the rest of the day wandering around the beach and making sure that none of the survivors is my mother. Part of me hopes she isn't here, so I won't have to worry about something bad happening to her. But another part of me, the selfish part, hopes she's here so I can see her again.

It's been over a year since I've last seen her because I couldn't afford a plane ticket home. I made the mistake of going to a University as far away from my home as possible, in an attempt to distance myself from my father. Unfortunately, staying away from my father meant staying away from my mother as well. My father is American, but my mother is Italian. They met at University when my father was studying abroad in Italy. For some reason my mother loved him enough to marry him and move to America. They should have divorced long ago, but my mother is Catholic and nobody in her family has ever gotten a divorce. Ever. I think it would shame her beyond repair to be the one to break that chain.

Schoolwork has kept me so overwhelmed this past year that I never had time to grow homesick, but now that I spend hours by myself, I'm so homesick it physically hurts.

_I may never see her again._

I plop down in the sand, defeated. For the first time in a very, very long time I don't laugh. I curl into myself and I begin to cry.


	4. Trouble in Paradise

_If I concentrate hard enough, I can partially drown out the sound of my parents fighting. To be honest, my parents aren't really fighting. My mom doesn't fight. She just stands there and absorbs the abuse._

_ Today he's in an uproar over the fact that my mother discovered he's having an affair. Multiple affairs, actually._

_ Yes, that's right. My father is angry with her over something that he should be begging her forgiveness for. Men are assholes._

_ I'm not sexist. I know there are plenty of female assholes to rival the amount of male assholes in the world. People are assholes. It's in our nature, I suppose._

_ I fling my anatomy textbook off the side of my bed with all my might. I'm so pissed off I can't study anymore tonight. I decide right here, right now, that I would rather slit my throat than get married and trap myself in the life my mother chose. I don't need anyone. I'll become a nurse, make enough money to buy a house, and adopt a child or two._

_ I don't need anyone._

_ My mother comes into my room a little while later. For some reason she's smiling. I don't know who she thinks she's fooling. In fact, her smiling is infuriating me. She has nothing to smile about._

_"About done for tonight?" she asks. "Sorry if we broke your concentration."_

_ "We? Mom, there was only one voice in there yelling, and it wasn't yours."_

_ She leans down to pick up my textbook and places it back on my bed, looking sheepish. "We've hit a bump in the road. I'll just give him a little time to cool down."_

_ I can't talk to her when she's like this. Why the hell does she defend him? The only reason I've never called child protective services is because I was paranoid that all my siblings would get separated and we'd never see each other again. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wonder what would have happened if I had called. "I'm going to bed."_

_ "Goodnight, sweetheart."_

_ "Goodnight."_

_ She pauses at the door, staring sadly at me yet somehow still managing one of those fake smiles. It may fool my brother and sisters, but it doesn't fool me. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"_

_ "I won't."_

_ I wait until I hear her footsteps climb the stairs before reaching under my pillow to pull out all of the Ivy League college responses I've collected up. I've been too sick to my stomach with nerves to open any of them yet. I just received the last response—from Harvard—today._

_ I open this one first, slowly peeling the envelope back and pulling out the letter with trembling fingers. _

_"Dear Ms. Collins,_

_It is with great regret that we must inform you that your application could not be included among our acceptances for the freshman class of 2012. Please know that this decision does not reflect any deficiency or weakness in your application—"_

_I can't read anymore. I feel like I'm going to throw up._

_ Once when I was 15, I bragged to my mom that not only was I going to get accepted to an Ivy League, but I would get a full ride as well. My father overheard me and told me I would be lucky to get an acceptance from the local community college. _

_I was always a good student, but that comment cut me so deep that I became obsessed with my grades, always with the intention of one day being able to rub my acceptance letter in his stupid, smug face._

_ But every last letter I received is a rejection._

_ I'm in a state of shock. I don't know what to do._

_ I can hear my father upstairs in the bedroom. He's still yelling about something._

_ I gather the rejections, bag them up, and shove them deep down in the garbage out of sight. I guess my father was right about me. I overestimated my intelligence._

_ I lie down and stare at the clock next to my bed. I watch the numbers blink to 12:00 am._

_ It's December 19._

_ Happy Birthday to me._

* * *

I wake up the next morning exhausted. My tears have glued sand all over my cheeks. I don't remember falling asleep. It must have been sometime during the night because it felt like I cried forever. I don't think there's a tear left in me to shed.

Jack makes his rounds and checks my wound. He has the good grace not to question my red, puffy eyes.

"Looks like you don't need this bandage anymore," he tells me. "Let it air out and scab. No more nausea?"

"No more nausea," I confirm. "So, how's your day been?" I need to make friends. I need to have some sort of safety net for the future. The people who were first to die in LOST were all nobodies—people who never became good friends with the Golden Group: Jack, Kate, Sawyer, and/or Hurley. I need to make up for lost time.

Haha. Lost time.

Geez, I need to work on my humor.

"It's been pretty hectic," he replies. "We're stranded on an island, after all."

I laugh a little too loudly and the woman kneeling in the sand a few feet away shoots me an annoyed look. Jack is kind enough to humor me with a laugh to help combat the awkward situation.

"Have the antibiotics helped anybody yet?" I ask. If they were legitimate antibiotics, I really hope they can save someone. And if they weren't, I'm curious as to what they've done.

"I never distributed them," Jack tells me in a hushed tone, leaning in closer so only I can hear. "Considering they weren't antibiotics."

Hair prickles up my neck as an icy chill runs through me. "What were they?" I whisper.

"Capsules that contained an incredibly high dose of tranquilizer."

I feel the blood drain from my face.

"Don't spread the word," Jack orders softly. "Ethan has been missing since yesterday, and I don't want to incite a panic. I don't know what's going on, but I plan to find out."

"Keep me updated," I plead as he leaves to make his rounds.

Jack leaves me with that lovey bit of information, and my bladder is suddenly full to bursting from nerves. I take off in search of my hollow tree stump hideaway, jumping at every tiny noise and eventually settling for arming myself with a sharp shard of plane wreckage. Hands shaking as I point my weapon at the smallest of sounds, I will my bladder to empty itself faster. After I'm finished, I notice a metallic shimmer out of the corner of my eye. In a neat little pile by my tree is a stack of chocolate bars.

I pick one up, rip off the foil wrapping, and turn it over in my hand. It's a perfectly normal bar of chocolate. I'm so hungry, and I haven't had chocolate in who knows how long. I'm a woman, after all. I need chocolate. But what is it doing here? Factory sealed chocolate. Harmless.

Right?

Then I remember that I commented yesterday on how much I wanted a chocolate bar. I stare at the tree in confusion. This must be some sort of island wish granting tree, like the magic box the Other's used to bring John Locke's father to the island.

Unless . . .

No.

The alternative would be that someone has been watching me all day, every day. A magical tree that grants wishes sounds much, much better.

"You know what?" I say aloud. "I'm not even going to question it. Stranger things have happened on this show. But while you're at it, magic tree, would you mind giving me some toilet paper? And chips. Potato chips. Please and thank you."

I wait patiently for my goodies to arrive, but nothing happens. "What's wrong, magic tree? Come on, please don't brake!"

A commotion on the beach makes me jump. "You better have produced toilet paper when I come back, or I'll gather up a colony of termites to show you who's boss." I take a big bite of one of the delicious chocolate bars, gather up the rest, and head back to the beach.

Camp is a mess when I return. Everyone seems to be in a panic. I try and rack my memory for traumatic happenings, but I can't remember what tragedy befalls the beach this early in the season. Jack spots me and rushes forward. "Where were you just now?" he asks angrily.

I swallow my mouthful of chocolate and hope it isn't smeared all over my face. "I had to go to the bathroom."

He looks down. "What are you eating?"

"I found chocolate." I hold out the bars. "Want some?"

"No," he pants with enough anger and frustration to last a lifetime, "I want to know exactly where you were just now."

"I told you. I had to use the—"

Jack grabs my shoulder and forces me back the way I just came. "I'd like a word."

"Jack," I stutter with cold, unrelenting fear, "what are you doing?" My eyes search the survivors nearest me, but everyone is so wrapped up in their own problems that they can't be bothered with mine.

Jack huffs heavily as he yanks me back towards the trees. "I find it strange that Ethan has taken a special interest in you. He still hasn't shown up since last night. Someone said he left to go to the bathroom and never came back."

I don't know how to respond, so I fill my mouth with chocolate.

"What seems to be the problem, Doc?" Sawyer emerges from out of the jungle. "What's everyone fussing about?"

"Where were _you _just now?" Jack questions, fuming, and thankfully loosens his hold on me.

"What's that any of your business?" Sawyer scoffs. "And get your hands off Doublemint. That's no way to treat a lady."

I exchange custody between the men so quickly it feels as if I am a transaction at a grocery store. Realizing that I'm no longer in immediate danger, I relax against Sawyer's comforting embrace.

"Alright!" Jack announces, spinning around to charge into the crowd. "Until we can figure out what's going on, nobody is leaving the beach! Understood? That means no more wandering off. Not for any reason!"

"I don't think that's your call to make, Jack." John Locke steps forward. He's already strapped down with knives that he brought along for his walkabout.

Jack and John get into an argument while I slip away to think.

Ethan has gone missing. The pills he so adamantly wanted me to take were powerful tranquilizers. _What does this solve, and what problems does this create?_ I pull out my notebook and flip to a fresh page.

I guess this solves the problem of Claire being abducted. And since Claire wont be abducted, Charlie won't find himself with a noose around his neck.

"Pardon me?" says soft voice. I look up to find Claire. "Hi," she says. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you've seen any peanut butter around?" She cradles her swollen stomach. "I've been having bad cravings lately."

I scoot over and offer her a seat on my blanket. "I wish I could say I have."

She takes a seat, looks around my living space, and asks, "Where's your suitcase?"

"Oh," I say, caught off guard. "I . . . couldn't find it."

Claire looks heart broken at this news. Her sincerity is heartwarming. "Oh, that's horrible. You know what? Feel free to borrow any of my clothes. I'm sure you're getting tired of having the wear the same thing over and over."

"Are you politely trying to tell me that I smell?"

She laughs.

I hold out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Cora, by the way."

"Claire. Nice to meet you."

I spend the next few hours talking to Claire and letting her read my horoscope. "Sagittarius? Very interesting."

I sit up straight in anticipation. "What can you tell me about myself?"

"You're a fire element, your ruling planet is Jupiter . . . oh, and your symbol is an archer."

Archer. Right. I've never picked up a bow in my life. "What exactly does all that mean?"

"Well, you're a very passionate person who knows what they want out of life and out of love. But your friendliness will earn you a reputation of being overly flirtatious, so be careful."

"Me? Flirtatious?" I heave an amused laugh. "Yeah, right."

She's easy to talk to. She even lets me feel her stomach when baby Aaron pushes out a foot. I'm glad she won't have to suffer through the trauma of being abducted and medicated by Ethan. She's too sweet for that.

"What do you think Jack's so worried about?" she asks.

I feel bad lying to her, but stressing her out with the news that a madman is on the loose wouldn't be good for the pregnancy. She's been stressed out enough as it is.

That afternoon, after making sure no one could see me, I return to my tree. I suck in a breath when I notice toilet paper and a bag of potato chips leaning against the trunk. I surge with excitement. "Magic tree! I knew you'd pull through!" I guess its magic only works when I'm not looking. Good to know.

I rip open the bag of chips and stuff my mouth, feeling only slightly guilty that I'm not sharing with the other survivors.

"Magic tree, do you think you could hook me up with something to read? Your choice. But make it good." I eat another handful of chips and add, "And some peanut butter, please. A big jar."

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, _The Hobbit _and a big jar of peanut butter is waiting by my tree. "You have magnificent taste in literature, magic tree. How did you know this was my favorite book?"

I'm more excited about the peanut butter than the book, to be honest. I practically run back to camp and start searching for Claire.

"Look what I found!"

She squeals in delight. "You did not! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Claire wastes no time digging in. She's halfway done with the jar when she asks if I have any water to help wash it down.

I check my bottle, but I must have drunk the last of it this morning. I ask around for Jack, but he seems to have wandered off into the jungle. What a hypocrite.

One lady tells me he left to search for water. Apparently he's been keeping it a secret that we've been out of water for almost 24 hours.

Quick! To the magic tree!

"Magic tree," I ask it, "could you please give me about a dozen water bottles?" That should tie us over until Jack gets back from finding the caves.

A twig snaps behind me. "You've found a magic tree, hm?"

I yell and spin around with my pathetic weapon to find John Locke.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sighing deeply at the thought of Jack suspecting me of fraternizing with Ethan, I lower my twisted piece of metal that I so desperately wish was a sword. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention to Jack I was out here."

"It's none of Jack's business where we go or what we do." Locke looks around and scratches the back of his neck. "But, you know, you really shouldn't be out here by yourself. Is that little piece of metal the only weapon you have on you?"

I feel chastised and embarrassed. "Yes."

From out of nowhere he pulls out a switchblade and tosses it in the dirt right in front of me. "Not anymore."

I stare at the hand-length blade stuck straight up in the dirt. "Thanks."

He salutes me and trudges off into the trees.

I tuck the impressively sharp knife into my pocket, feeling a surge of irrational security, as I hurry back to the beach. Everyone seems to be excited about something. I find Jack has returned and is standing atop a piece of the plane wreckage to make an announcement.

Jack grins. "Everyone, I've solved our water problem. There's caves not too far from here with a running spring. Plenty of water for all!"

_You were too slow, magic tree. You were too slow._

* * *

Jack has his panties in a twist, as usual, but especially so now that Ethan is on the loose. He makes sure nobody leaves for the caves if they aren't in groups larger than 5.

I quickly find myself in a group with Charlie, Claire, Jack, Kate, John Locke, 6 random survivors, and Sawyer.

The jungle is unpleasantly humid. Moisture seeps up through the soil and clings to my clothing so I feel dirty and damp. "How far away is it?" I ask.

"About ten more minutes," Jack answers.

Ugh.

I'm about to croak from this heat when a thunderous roar sounds from nearby as a large polar bear charges at the group. Everyone starts screaming and running in different directions. In my state of delirious panic, I follow Sawyer. He's the one with the gun, I think. Or have Jack and Sayid already taken it away from him?

Either way, I haul ass.

But the stupid thing is following me. Out of all the people it could have followed, it chose me. I'm loath to admit to myself that it's probably because I have the most meat on my bones. It's not a stupid bear. It's trying to get the most bang for its buck.

I push past trees and brush, tropical flowers and boulders, but the bear is still hot on my trail. My foot catches on a vine, and I trip and fall, rolling to an ungraceful stop. I remember reading once that bears will lose interest if you play dead, so I curl up into a ball and hold my hands at the base of my neck.

I can hear the bear. It snorts and gives me a shove with its big wet nose. It tickles me when it sniffs my ear. It tries to roll me over with a massive paw. _Just leave me alone! I'm playing dead, what more do you want?_

A loud popping sound startles me, and suddenly the polar bear rears up on its hind legs, roaring ferociously. I look up just in time to watch Sawyer deliver the final fatal bullet. The bear falls to the floor in a heap. Aside from the struggled panting, I think it's good as dead.

I scoot backwards until I'm leaning up against a tree. It feels like my heart is going to explode from adrenaline overload. "What the hell?" I scream.

"Are you okay?" Sawyer asks.

"No, I'm not okay! I just almost got eaten by _a freaking polar bear!_"

"Get up," he mocks. "You're fine."

Sawyer offers me a hand, but I don't take it. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I can't handle this anymore."

I take a few steps in the direction I think the group was heading, and my feet are pulled out from under me. I'm yanked up into the sky, swinging in midair, trapped in some sort of net.

Well, at least I'm not alone.

"Son of a bitch," Sawyer groans.

I couldn't agree more.


	5. Shared Confusion

"AGGGGHHHHHHH!" I twist my fingers in the rope net and shake them with all my might. "Why, God? WHY? What did I do to deserve this? TELL ME WHAT I DID WRONG! I'LL MAKE IT RIGHT, I SWEAR!"

"Calm down. You're hyperventilating."

"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?" My legs have squeezed through two holes near the bottom of the net, and it's giving me a horrid wedgie. I can feel a panic attack arising. My breath gets shallow and wheezes out of my lungs like a rusty hinge. My vision blurs and sways and I can't seem to stop my stream of consciousness from pouring forth. "All I wanted was a nice quiet life, alone, with a dog or a goldfish or something. Somewhere out in the mountains where family would be too chicken to visit me. I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS!"

"Would you shut up?" Sawyer snaps. "I can't even hear myself think."

"This is so typical. I have a crappy _real _life, so it's only fitting that my imaginary life is _just as freaking crappy_!" I swing my hanging legs in the air like two angry piñatas. "Help!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Somebody! Anybody! For the love of God, cut us down!"

Cut us down? _The knife! _I scramble around and try to reach the knife in my back pocket, but the net has wrapped us so tightly that my arms can barely move at all. "Sawyer, I need you to get the pocketknife out of my pants."

"You know," he grumbles under his breath, "you'd think this would be a turn on, but this really isn't sexy at all."

My face sets in a frown. "Thank you. I can feel my self esteem rising as we speak."

Sawyer sighs and tries to fish the pocketknife out of my tight jeans.

Suddenly I hear a thump on the ground below us, and my heart sinks. "Sawyer?"

"What?"

"Did you just drop it?"

I feel his chest vibrate with a deep growl.

What would my mother do in this situation? I know exactly what she would do. She would tell me to count my blessings.

Blessing #1: I'm not dead. I guess that's a blessing.

Blessing #2: I can think of quite a few people who would be worse partners to be trapped in a net with than Sawyer.

Blessing #3: Who am I kidding? I'm going to die in this net.

Something moves from far away. I see a shadowy figure concealed by the trees.

"Oh, no," I whisper.

"What?" Sawyer asks. "What do you see?"

"It's Rousseau. We're dead." I lean my head against the net. "I can't die! I don't know how _Game of Thrones_ ends!"

It's times like these when I wish I were fluently trilingual. I've learned the basics of Italian from my mother, but the process of learning it never came naturally for me. Part of this can be attributed to the fact that my father didn't allow us to speak anything but English in his presence, so the opportunities to learn Italian from my mother was often limited and filled with a crippling trepidation. Because of this, I can understand it far better than I can speak it.

I watch the figure walk closer, and I wish I had taken French in high school.

The figure that emerges from out of the jungle is not Rousseau. It takes a few seconds for my brain to process that the figure is none other than Benjamin Linus. He's quickly followed by a flurry of silent Others.

I'm not exactly sure what I feel. Ben was hands down my favorite character on the show, and call me crazy, but I actually find him kind of attractive. But it's one thing to fangirl safely in your dorm room and a completely different thing to come face-to-face with an emotionally void, manipulative murderer in real life. Not to mention Sawyer and I are now outnumbered fifteen to one. I'm filled with equal parts excitement and terror.

Instead of cutting us down or poking us with spears, the Others gather around the dead polar bear. One woman actually falls to her knees and sobs. One man rubs a hand over his face and somberly shakes his head at the sight. I perk up when I recognize someone. Harper Stanhope, the Others psychologist. She kneels down next to the crying woman and rubs a comforting hand over her shoulders.

They're mourning the bear. The Others are mourning the death of one of the island polar bears. I definitely don't remember that happening in the show.

Ben slowly turns around to glare at us—but not just any ordinary glare. No, this is one of those special calm glares that sends chills up your spine and brings to your attention that somebody is about to be murdered.

The sobbing woman stands up and stomps over to where we're hanging. "What do you want to do with them?" she asks Ben. Her eyes are red and puffy, her expression murderous.

"Us?" I can feel the laughter bubbling up and out. "Don't mind us. We're just—" _Cora, don't you dare say it_. "—hanging around." _Somebody please shoot me and end my misery._

"Cut them down," Ben orders.

The net is lowered to the ground, and my fingers fumble frantically as I try to untangle myself from the thick rope. Running away is out of the question, so I struggle to think up a good explanation to save myself. Just when I grasp some semblance of an excuse, I look up and make the mistake of locking eyes with Ben.

From somewhere behind me, I hear Ethan's voice. "I tried to tell you."

Ben's eyes quickly dart from me, to Sawyer, to me, then back to Sawyer. Finally, they rest on me. When he speaks, he says something in a language I've never heard before.

I stare up at him, confused. "I . . . I don't know what you're saying."

Without looking away, Ben asks, "Where is Richard? Somebody bring him to me."

"Ben," one of the men say, "the survivors Marguerite chased off are coming back. They're heading this way."

I perk up at the mention of my mother's name. "Marguerite? Who said that? Where is she?"

"You keep your mouth shut," the crying woman snaps. "What do you want to do with them, Ben?"

He stares at us for a second longer before answering, "Take them with us."

A bag is thrown over my head.

* * *

I wake up on a cold hardwood floor. When I sit up, the world around me spins. Everything is brighter and fuzzier and happier. My head, heavy with drugs, sways from side to side as I take in my new surroundings.

I'm in a house. An actual house. With furniture and a TV and a kitchen with a stove. Large bookshelves line most of the walls, and a rather large painting hangs above a desk in the corner of the room. The canvas depicts what looks like a woman riding an elk, its enormous antlers taking up a sizable portion of the painting. I squint to better make out the face of the woman, but her face has been painted in red and black, and I quickly give up. Across from where I'm sitting on the floor, Ben and Richard are sitting on a sofa.

"Do you want me to question her?" Richard asks quietly.

Ben shifts nervously in his seat. "No," he replies, although he looks unsure. "I will do it."

"Hey. Hey, Ben," I whisper, beckoning him towards me with a finger. "Hey. Come here. I need to tell you a secret." He kneels down, leans in close, and I scream, "_I am high as a kite right now! I am tripping serious balls!"_

Ben raises an eyebrow and turns to glare at Ethan, who is standing by the front door. "How much did you give her?"

Ethan takes a step back. "I guessed on her weight, and I might have accidently given her too much. It won't hurt her," he adds hastily. "It'll just take longer to work out of her system."

"I knew it," I slur, pointing an angry finger in his direction. "I knew it all along, you hair thief! I bet you aren't even Canadian. Maple syrup. Bacon. Hockey. Moose." I slouch over and try to think of more Canadian things.

"Hair thief?" Ben muses.

"Took a strand right out of my head," I say, pointing at Ethan.

Ben's eyes slowly narrow at Ethan's shrinking form in the doorway.

"I'm sorry Ben," Ethan says, not sounding sorry at all. "I couldn't resist. I only took one, I swear."

"Miss Collins, I need you to focus." With one hand Ben pushes me back up into a sitting position, and with the other hand he cups my face and gently guides me to look at him. "What is your name?"

It's so cold in here that it reminds me of the dentist. "I don't have any cavities," I assure him.

"What is your full name?" he repeats.

"You have such a nice nose."

I watch his cheeks turn the faintest pink. "Miss Collins, can you please cooperate?"

For some reason all I can think about is Thumb Wars, the parody of Star Wars reenacted entirely with thumbs. "Oobie-doob Scooby-doobie Benoobie," I answer seriously. Then I start laughing, pleased with my cleverness.

Richard, however, does not look pleased. "What year is it?" he asks.

_Ah, a trick question. Thinks he can outsmart me, eh? Well, well, LOST takes place in 2003. Or was it 2004? Okay, subtract that from 2014, and that gives me. . . carry the 1 . . . oh, screw it. _I throw my arms open, accidently smacking away Ben's hands, and yell, "2014!"

Ben and Richard exchange looks. "And what year were you born?"

"1994!" I gasp at a sudden realization. "I'm the Doctor!"

"It is currently 2004, Miss Collins." Ben's eyebrows furrow slightly. "According to the date you gave me, you are 10 years old."

"No," I explain, "I'm saying I'm Doctor Who, and I can do as I please."

Something flashes behind Richard's dark eyes, and he sits up at a sudden thought. "Cora, do you mean to say you were born in 1894?"

I bend my pinkie wildly. "My finger is an inchworm."

Richard sighs from his seat on the couch. "This isn't working, Ben. She's too drugged."

Ben places a hand on my shoulder, and I jerk away from him. "Keep your hands off me, fiend! Don't you know who I am? I am Batman, and you will respect my badge."

"I thought you were the Doctor," says Ben.

"Wrong again." I spin around and lie down on my back. "I'm actually Sherlock Holmes. You can be Watson." I throw an arm over my face and break out in giggles. "Actually, you should probably be Sherlock because you're made of snark, and I'm made of scones and jam. Hey . . . am I supposed to have six fingers on my right hand?"

Richard leans forward, his hands still neatly folded in his lap. "Cora, do you know who I am?"

"Of course," I answer. "But what I don't know is what kind of eyeliner you use. It's gorgeous."

Ben has to suppress a smile, but Richard plows forward with questions. "Have you ever met me before?"

"Nope."

Richard leans back into the sofa, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Cora, you're not making sense."

"Your face isn't making sense," I retort.

Ben looks incredibly disappointed. "This is going nowhere. Ethan, how long before the drugs wear off?"

"A day or so. Maybe less. It all depends on her metabolism."

Ben snorts angrily. "I should have measured it myself. Miss Collins? Miss Collins, please put that down."

I pick up the salt and pepper shakers off the kitchen table and sprinkle them over my head. "Tis the season to season myself with seasons. Ha. I'm hilarious."

Ben tries to wrestle the shakers out of my hands. I shove my face in his button-down shirt and inhale deeply. "You smell like an advertisement for MASCULINITY!"

"Richard, help me get her in Alex's room, will you?"

With their help, I stumble through a hallway and end up on a twin bed, surrounded by stuffed animals.

* * *

I've been staring at the ceiling for hours. I don't know how long it's been since the drugs finally wore off. When I can stand unsupported, I walk over to the door, only to discover it's locked _from the outside_. Now, I don't claim to be a locksmith, but I'm fairly certain this is not how a bedroom door normally functions.

I search the room for something to smash the door down with. Before I can think up a plan of escape, the door unlocks with a click, and Ben peeks inside. "I've made tea," he announces, promptly scurrying back down the hallway out of sight.

The hell?

I follow him into the kitchen where I find Richard already seated at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. He eyes me suspiciously as he takes a sip. "Have a seat, Cora."

I obey.

Ben hurries to set a fresh cup of tea down in front of me. "Cake?" he asks.

My eyes widen at the offering. "You have cake?"

Richard wastes no time questioning me. "You said yesterday that you know who I am, but that we had never met. Care to explain?"

I shovel cake in my mouth and shrug. _I know you because I've watched you on TV since I was a teenager, but I've never met you because you don't really exist. _"I have no explanation."

"Do you think the trauma to her head is to blame for all this?" Ben asks. "We haven't voted amnesia off the table."

"That's possible. But I don't believe it." Richard stares me down, eyes narrowing. "Were you named after your mother, Cora?"

"No," I answer. My fork scrapes against the empty plate and I frown, disappointed. Ben jumps up and gets me another slice.

"What was your mother's name?" Richard prods.

"Marguerite." I'm suddenly reminded of something the Others said before I was brought here. "I heard someone say my mother's name before you put a bag over my head."

"The polar bear," Ben answers sadly. "She was named Marguerite."

"Oh. I didn't shoot her, just to let you know. That was—" _Sawyer. _"Hey, where's Sawyer?"

Richard ignores my question and leans in so close our faces almost touch. I freeze as his eyes bore into mine, searching for answers. "Do you remember La Estrella?"

Richard is so close his warm, mint breath bounces off my lips. My face begins to redden and sweat under his penetrating stare. "I don't know what you're talking about."

For the briefest of moments his fury softens into a genuine sorrow. Blinking rapidly, he pulls away and leans back in his seat, his expression hardening into frustration. "I don't know what to tell you, Ben. She looks like her, and she talks like her, but this cannot be her." With lighting speed he has my arm is his grip, and he holds it up for Ben to inspect. "Look. No scars."

I struggle to yank my arm free, but Richard tightens his hold until I can feel the crescent indents of his fingernails.

"I think we should bring her to Jacob," Richard suggests. "He'll be able to tell if she's the real Cora or not."

The fork I was strangling in my free hand drops from my fingers and clatters against the empty cake plate. "Are you seriously accusing me of being an imposter of . . . _myself_?" I look at Ben, but he looks down at his tea and won't look back up. "And where is Sawyer? Where are you keeping him?"

"James is safe. He is none of your concern, for the time being." Richard releases my arm, and when he speaks again, his voice is tinted with an air of finality. "You are going to come with me, right now, and we are going to see Jacob."

"Yeah?" I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "And why is that?"

"Because." Richard leans back in his chair, never taking those Maybelline eyes off me. "We have your mother."


	6. Jacob is a Jerk

_A bright flash of white. A crack of thunder. It's almost loud enough to drown out the voice in my head. The little voice that peeks out every once in a while, even though it knows it's not welcome._

_ "Eat it," the voice says._

_ So I do._

_ A few minutes later my fingers are sticky with cheese by-products, so I lick them clean, crumbling up the now empty Cheetos bag._

_ Some girls cut themselves, some girls starve themselves, some repetitively date horrible men because they think that's all they deserve. One way or another, they figure out how to deal with the pain._

_ I eat._

_ When I eat I always feel better afterwards. Calmer. More comfortable. I like the motions of eating. I like the feeling of food grinding up between my teeth. I like the feeling of it sliding down my esophagus. I like the pain of my belly about to burst._

_ I don't think I'm depressed, though. I've never truly contemplated suicide, and that's a pre-requisite, right?_

_ I look over at the little fish bowl Nemo lives in. I bought him at the pet store when I first started high school two years ago, since my father won't let me have a dog or a cat or a bird or a hamster. I watch him swim circles around his little fish bowl while I continue to lick the cheese off my fingers._

_ My door flies open so hard the doorknob cracks against the wall and leaves a fissure in the stucco. _

_ "Where is she?" my father demands, striding towards my seat at the edge of my bed._

_ I instinctively flinch away from him. "Who?" I ask softly. I hate how he has such power over me. I wish I could scream at him. Better yet, I wish I could beat his face bloody, but even the mere sight of him consumes me with terror._

_ "Where is your mother?" he yells._

_ "I don't know."_

_ He picks up the first thing he sees, which just so happens to be my Algebra textbook, and throws it across the room. My textbook hits Nemo's bowl, and the glass shatters all over the floor. Nemo flops around, gasping._

_ We both hear the front door open at the same time. My father makes a break for it. I hurry behind him, abandoning Nemo._

_ My mother has just returned from grocery shopping. She has a brown paper bag in each hand. "Can you take one of these bags, please? I'm losing my grip."_

_ I watch, stunned into silence, as my father roughly knocks the bags out of her hands and shakes her violently by the shoulders. She falls backwards and immediately covers her head with her arms. Her response is so quick and instinctive that I can't help but worry that this has happened before when I'm not here._

_ Before I realize what's happening, I'm standing protectively between my father and mother, shielding her with my body, staring my father down. There is so much I want to say, so much cursing I want to do, but all I can manage to squeak out is, "Stop."_

_ My mother would never call the police on him, but he knows that I would. That's why he hesitates._

_ Hit me. Hit me you son of a bitch, so I can call the police and have your sorry ass hauled off to jail._

_ My eyes widen when he actually does pull back his arm to ready himself for a swing. I close my eyes and listen to the splintering of wood. My eyes flutter open. He didn't punch me. He punched a hole in the front door next to my face. He didn't punch me, but he wanted to._

_ Without another word, he turns to grab the car keys, pushes past us, and slams the broken front door behind him._

_ My mother, who usually plasters a smile on her face to placate us all, is in tears. She apologizes, but I don't want to hear it. I want to pity her, but for some reason I don't. I don't feel anything, really._

_ I walk back to my room and shut the door behind me._

_ I find Nemo dead._

_ I flush him down the toilet._

* * *

"Where is she?" I ask slowly, growling through clenched teeth. My fingers dig into the palms of my already sweaty hands.

Suddenly I don't care that I'm being held hostage, questioned against my will, and accused of being . . . I'm not quite sure what, but something bad.

Ben is quick to try and placate my growing panic. "I can assure you that she is being well looked after."

I push out of my seat and start flinging anything and everything within my reach. I don't even try to aim at either of them. I just launch items in their general direction. A frying pan, a pot, steak knives, a cutting board, a bag of sugar on and on until Richard can get close enough to knock me down and sit on me.

"If you touch one hair on her head—" I threaten, biting down hard on Richard's hand that wandered too close to my face.

He cries out in pain and tries to tug his hand out from between my teeth. "Get handcuffs, Ben! Restrain her, dammit!"

I'm smoldering with fury by the time I'm pushed back into my seat at the kitchen table. I couldn't protect my mother in my real life, but I'll be dammed if I won't protect her in this fake life.

Richard looks at me with disgust as he flexes his fingers to make sure they still work.

Ben brings him some ice. "Do you honestly think she would have reacted that way if she wasn't real?" His eyelids flutter at a sudden though, and he brightens. "There is one last test we can give her." He hurries away down the hall and returns with a white rabbit. He sets the rabbit before me, and it hops around the table. "What is it saying?" he asks, staring intently, waiting for a reaction.

I watch the rabbit hop over to me and sniff at my shirt. "I don't know what he's saying," I snap. "Or she . . . I apologize if you're a female, little bunny."

"Enough tests," Richard growls, grabbing me roughly by the back of my shirt and yanking me up out of my seat. "Jacob will know what you are."

"I'm going with you."

"No, Ben, you're not," Richard replies.

The weird shy Ben has morphed back into the character I'm familiar with. He tries everything to get Richard's approval to accompany us to see Jacob—manipulation, weak bribes, and I'm pretty sure I heard a subtle death threat in there somewhere.

"Just let him come with us," I huff. "It's not like Jacob will care."

Both men pause their argument and turn to look at me.

"What?" I snap. I'm done with the two of them, and I just want to get this all over with so I can make sure my mother is okay. "It's true."

Richard runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "See, that's exactly what I would expect you to say. What is this? Some part of your master plan to—" He stops himself and begins again. "Nobody is going to see Jacob except for Cora and myself. End of discussion."

I turn to Ben and whisper, "Jacob's a total jerk, anyways. You're not missing much."

"Excuse me?" Richard's face twists into a furious scowl. "You of all people have no right to speak of him."

"Me?" I ask, aghast. "What did I ever do to him?" When nobody answers me, I panic and begin to yell, "Would someone please explain to me what is going on? I feel like I'm still high. Nothing you two are saying is making _any_ sense. Why don't you believe that I'm the real Cora, whatever the hell that even means?"

"We don't believe you," Richard snaps at me, "because the _real _Cora is dead."

"I'm not dead," I splutter. "I'm breathing. I can feel my heart beating. I'm talking to the two of you, for crying out loud. Isn't that proof enough?"

Richard narrows his eyes at me. "I've seen what you can do. I've seen your tricks."

"Tricks?"

"You've already tried to fool me once. You will not soil Cora's memory like you did my—" Richard breaks off and looks away.

"What are you saying? You think I'm possessed or something?" _If they think I'm dead and possessed, they must think . . . _"You think . . . you think I'm the smoke monster?"

I watch them both for a response. Richard continues to scowl at me, but Ben looks thoroughly terrified. His eyes are wide with fear, his nostrils flair, and his lips are pressed together in a hard straight line.

"Let's just get this over with. I'm not afraid of anything Jacob has to say. I know who I am." I stand up straight and struggle to hold tight to any shred of dignity I have left. "Lead the way."

* * *

"Hold on," I pant pathetically. I have to stop and catch my breath every few minutes. I spent a lot of time in the university gym this last year, but I'm still not exactly what you'd call slim. And I don't think I'm quite hiking worthy yet either. And it's no help that I'm handcuffed. It makes it hard to keep my balance while walking over vines and fallen tree stumps. Richard and Ben follow behind me, both aiming rifles at my back in case I try to run away.

Ha. Run away. I can't even keep up with them. What are they worried about?

Richard pushes—literally _pushes—_me along in front of him. Ben has tried to assist me a few times when I stumbled, but Richard snapped at him, and now it's just me chugging along. I don't know how either of them hasn't so much as broken a sweat. I'm covered in sticky perspiration, and it feels like I'm choking up a lung.

Sawyer staggers alongside me. It appears he underwent the same questioning. Obviously neither of us passed.

"Cora, are you hurt?" he asks. His voice comes out low and husky out of the side of his mouth as we walk alongside each other. His hands have been handcuffed behind his back, like mine.

My face grows warm. The worry in his voice is flattering, and he must be legitimately worried about me because he called me by my actual name. It's nice to know somebody cares whether I live or die. "No," I answer honestly. "Are you?"

"Those bastards drugged me, but besides that they haven't hurt a hair on my head. Did they tell you where we're going?"

"Didn't they tell you?" I ask.

"No."

I wonder why Richard would blurt out Jacob's name to me and not to Sawyer. I wonder if that means Richard is more afraid of me. My sisters are like that. They could keep a million secrets from our mother, but when my father asked them something they always answered the truth. They couldn't help it. Fear made the truth come tumbling out against their will.

When Sawyer speaks again, his voice is softer. "Something's not right here. They told me they have my wife. They told me I can see her if I cooperate."

"They told me they have my mother," I say, my eyes widening.

"Cora," Sawyer explains, "I don't have a wife. I've never married."

My heart instantly sinks in my chest. _They lied to me. They just said whatever they thought would make me talk. My mother isn't here. My mother isn't anywhere._

_Then again, isn't that a good thing? She isn't in this dangerous place. She isn't being held hostage._

_Well, no. Actually that's not true. She's on her own little island with my father. The only difference is I can't get to her to help make it better._

Sawyer throws his head back and asks loudly, "Where are you taking us, Eyeliner?"

I turn my head, only a fraction, so I can see Sawyer's face. "We're going to see Jacob."

"Who the hell is Jacob?" Sawyer hisses.

I see the foot statue over the tops of the palm trees. Little black specks dance behind my eyelids as I stumble across the beach. I'm thirsty and exhausted. Sand kicks up into my shoes and grinds against my feet. I can't help but roll my eyes.

"I suppose you're looking for me."

The four of us spin around and come face to face with the man of mystery himself. Jacob has always looked high to me. I think it's the heavy-lidded eyes and drowsy demeanor. His dirty blonde hair is a mess, as usual, and he's wearing his usual plain cotton pants and shirt while sitting on a rock, carving a small token out of wood.

"Jacob," Richard starts, "I need your assistance with something."

"Oh?" he asks, sounding bored.

Richard pulls me closer to Jacob's seat on the rock. "I need to know if she's real."

Without even looking up, Jacob answers, "Of course she's real." He looks even more stoned when he gives a lazy smile. "As real as you or me."

Richard looks lost. "That . . . that can't be possible."

Jacob finally looks up from his whittling project. "Why is that, Richard?"

"He thinks I'm dead," I explain.

Jacob's eyebrows rise. "Ah," he says, returning his attention back to his token. It looks like some sort of wooden animal.

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" The edge in Richard's voice makes me take a step back. I don't remember Richard ever being violent with anyone on the show, but everyone seems so out of character here that I don't know what to expect.

I turn to walk back to Sawyer and find Ben in a state of shock. The sight of Jacob has paralyzed him. I don't know how long it's been since he first asked to see him, but I do know it's been years. I suppose it's the same as meeting your celebrity idol.

Since his attention, for once, isn't on me, I take this opportunity to study him. His face is thinner than I remember it being. In fact, his whole body is thinner than I remember it being. His ears stick out from under his neatly combed black hair. His shirt—the same color as his eyes—is a deep blue button-down tucked into pristinely ironed kaki slacks. Even his dress shoes have been shined. Attention to detail, even in his clothing. I should have expected nothing less. I look back up to find him staring at me.

Now, any normal person would have just looked away and pretended nothing happened. I, however, have a blinking spasm and choke on my own saliva.

Somebody clasps me on the shoulder and I flinch as an odd sensation runs through my brain. I turn to look at who's touching me.

It's Jacob. "You must forgive them," he says. "They were only taking precautions. Ben, you can let them go now. I have business to conduct with Richard."

Ben blinks, startled, and slowly comes forward to unlock my handcuffs.

After being freed, Sawyer waits until Ben's attention focuses on me before punching him hard in the face. "Run, Cora! Go!"

"Sawyer, stop it," I yell, but before I can even take a step forward to help, Ben has elbowed Sawyer's esophagus and flipped him onto his back, clearly knocking the wind out of him. Sawyer groans in pain while Ben spits out a mouthful of blood, looking more irritated than anything.

A sudden sharp pain shoots through my skull, flashing a blinding white light behind my eyes and consuming my every thought with intense pain. I gasp and dig my fingers into my hair, sinking to my knees in the sand.

"What is it?" somebody asks. "What's wrong?"

I rub at my throbbing temples, but as soon as it flares up, it's gone without a trace. I breathe a sigh of relief. "It's . . . it's gone now."

"Mama!" A child's scream pierces through the trees, and I jerk my attention to it. It's coming from deep within the jungle. "Mama!"

"Do you hear that?" I ask.

"Hear what?" Sawyer stretches his back, gazing out at the trees. "I don't hear anything."

"Mama! Help!"

I leap up and break out into a sprint, surging with motherly protective instincts as I charge into the forest.

I can hear Ben's panicked voice behind me yelling, "Miss Collins, stop!"

I can't stop. I will not let a child die. Children are innocent. They need protecting. "Where are you?" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Don't worry, I'm coming to find you!"

I keep running, but this air is thick as soup, and soon I have to stop and catch my breath. While I kneel, panting, Sawyer and Ben catch up to me.

"Miss Collins," Ben says sharply, "you _cannot _wander off alone."

A wailing little piglet comes bursting out of the jungle. He halts abruptly when he sees the three of us and turns to flee in the other direction. "Help!" he cries in perfect English. "Help!"

"What was that?" I say. "Wait!" I yell, gaining my senses back and chasing after it.

"Help!" the little piglet screeches at the top of his lungs. "Mama! Help me!"

"It's okay," I say in my most reassuring voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."

In his mad dash to escape, the piglet gets his stubby little legs caught in a tangle of vines and he crashes down, screaming louder than ever. "Don't eat me," it begs. "Don't eat me!"

"I'm not going to eat you," I promise the frightened piglet. "It's okay. Calm down."

"Stay away! I'll bite you!"

"Please don't bite me," I beg. "I just want to help. See?" I hold out my empty hands. "I'm not eating you."

The piglet finally stops thrashing and oinks, "You're not going to eat me?"

"No, I'm not. Come here, it's alright." I gently untangle his legs and scoop up the little baby boar, cradling him in my arms and brushing a hand over his bristly black hair. He must have only recently been born because he's no bigger than a loaf of bread. He looks up at me with his big, frightened eyes.

Ben and Sawyer walk up behind me.

"You can understand it?" Ben asks impatiently. "What is it saying?"

"Clearly it's saying _wee, wee, wee _all the way home," Sawyer answers. "What the hell kind of question is that, Bug Eyes?"

"Oh, no," I groan. "Please tell me you can hear him talking."

"I can hear him squealing bloody murder," Sawyer complains.

"What is it saying?" Ben prompts.

"_He_ thinks we're going to eat him."

"I wouldn't mind a BLT right about now," says Sawyer.

I cringe and look at the piglet to see his reaction, but he doesn't react at all. I bounce him in my arms until he decides to finally calm down and trust me. "There we go," I soothe. "Now, lets go find your mom, alright?"

Ben takes a few steps towards me, making sure to leave at least a five-foot gap between us. "As much as I appreciate your need to assist the wildlife, we need to return to the Barracks. Night will be here shortly."

The piglet doesn't seem to have understood a single word Ben has said because he doesn't complain. "I'm not going to just leave him out here alone," I say.

"No, please!" the piglet squeals, vigorously rubbing his little wet snout against my arm. "Don't leave me!"

"I'm not going to leave you," I assure him, "We're going to go find your mom."

"Cora—" Ben starts, but I interrupt.

I hold out the baby boar in front of his face and say, "Tell him no yourself."

The piglet oinks, "Please, please, please, please . . ."

"What in God's name is going on?" Sawyer interrupts.

"Sawyer, what do you hear?" I hold the piglet out at him.

"Are we going to find my mama?" he asks.

"It just oinked," Sawyer answers. "What's going on? It's a pig. What do you expect it to say?"

"I can understand what he's saying. Don't look at me like that, Sawyer. I'm not crazy."

"She isn't," Ben adds.

I turn to Ben and realize all at once just how close he's standing. He still has a rifle strung over his shoulder, but that isn't why my pulse quickens. I take a step back and try to calm my breathing. "Am I free to leave? I want to help reunite him with his mother."

"Yes," the baby pleads, "I want my mama."

Ben wears a strange expression. It looks like he's in pain but doesn't want anyone to know. His eyes roll from the piglet to me and he asks, "What is it saying now?"

"He's begging you."

I can see the gears working in Ben's head as he turns to look at the setting sun. His gaze moves to a tree, and finally he stares at the ground, thinking, his brows only slightly furrowed. When he's thought up an answer, he says, "I'm sorry, but there isn't enough time to search tonight. We can bring him home, and then release him tomorrow so he can find his mother."

I gasp at the very thought and hold the piglet protectively against my chest. "I'm not letting him run off alone! Are you crazy? There are a million things out there that could kill him."

Ben hastily takes a few more steps forward. "And there are a million things that could very well kill _us_ soon if we don't get home, now. I cannot protect you on my own."

"I hate to burst your patriarchal bubble, Spock, but she doesn't need you to protect her." Sawyer puffs out his chest and wedges his way between Ben and me. "Cora and I are leaving. Now. So you can go crawl back under whatever rock you came from."

Ben's question is laced with sarcasm. "I assume _you_ plan on keeping her safe?"

Sawyer may be the physically stronger of the two, but judging from the way Ben rendered him immobile in a matter of seconds, whatever street-fighting Sawyer picked up throughout his life is no match to Ben's attentive martial arts studies. As Sawyer presses the matter further, causing an angry ripple in Ben's expression, I fear Ben is about to hurt Sawyer permanently. "Please, stop," I beg. "Sawyer, I'm going to return to Ben's community tonight until I can figure something out. Ben, I want to watch over this piglet tomorrow while he searches for his mother. You can join us in the search, if you must."

Ben thinks it over, periodically glancing at Sawyer with a triumphant smirk, and then he nods his consent.

I explain the proposition to the piglet, and after much deliberation, he finally agrees. His main concern is not being left alone. Poor thing.

"Has everyone lost their mind?" Sawyer complains. "Cora, you don't honestly believe you can talk to that pig."

"Get used to it, Sawyer. Weirder things are sure to come." A thought strikes me and I'm suddenly furious. "Of course!" I say to myself. "Jacob, that psycho. I let him touch me. I let him touch my shoulder."

Ben reaches out and grasps my elbow. He pulls away just as quickly. "Stay close, Miss Collins."

"Cora," I correct. "Can you please stop calling me Miss Collins? It makes me feel old."

"Cora?" the piglet oinks. "Is that what I call you?"

"Yes," I answer. "And what does your mother call you?"

"Baby."

"Baby?"

"She calls all of us baby," he oinks.

"Well that won't do. Ben, what's a good name for him?"

"Pumba."

I love it, but it weirds me out that Ben has seen Disney movies.

Sawyer turns and looks at the piglet with amusement. "How about bacon?"

I stare at him openmouthed and horrified.

"That wasn't funny, James. My apologies, Cora," Ben mumbles, turning his attention back to the trail.

"Keep your apologies," Sawyer grumbles. "And how the hell do you know my name?"

Ben carries the rifle in front of him, armed, I suppose, for whatever it was that comes out at night. "I know much more about you than just your name."

I follow behind them as they begin to bicker.

"What's wrong?" the baby asks.

"You can't understand them?"

"No," he answers.

Good.

I follow behind Sawyer and Ben with conflicting hopes of seeing my mother. Were they lying? Is she really being held hostage?

The piglet shifts in my arms, and I sigh as another, less important thought fills my head.

_I will never be able to eat bacon ever again._


	7. The Legend of Cora

Our arrival at Othersville is met with whispers. I watch more than one person catch my eye and hurry away, while some hold my gaze with an excited smile on their face.

Several strange breeds of animals lounge on people's front porches and lawns. I see flamingos, wolves, a cheetah, a zebra, a rhinoceros, and numerous colorful birds. The cheetah gracefully trots over to me and sniffs up at my arms.

"Food?" it asks, swishing its long spotted tail.

"No," I snap, holding Pumba up higher. "Go away."

"I want food," the cheetah growls. "Feed me, human."

"Excuse me?"

"What does she want?" Ben asks.

"She wants to eat Pumba. Get her away from me."

"Onyx, you know feeding time isn't for another hour. Go back to Amelia's."

Onyx circles me, sniffing. "You smell familiar, human. I've met you before."

"I don't remember meeting you."

"I never forget a scent," she insists. "We have met before."

An old woman calls to Onyx from her front porch.

The cat's ears perk up, and she turns to leave. "Until next time, human."

"This is bizarre," I mumble, trailing behind Ben. "Why do your people keep such odd pets?"

"They're not our pets. They're your pets. Or, rather, they _were_ your pets. A very long time ago."

We continue along in silence. Even Sawyer doesn't seem to have anything sarcastic to say.

* * *

I've been socially awkward for as long as I can remember. When people need to hear something, I don't catch on, and I always end up saying something stupid. My anxiety doesn't help. Half the time I'm so worried that I'll say something stupid that I end up saying something stupid just because I'm so worried about saying something stupid. It's a vicious cycle.

One of the most annoying things is that I tense up when I feel attacked—physically or verbally. The bullies at school had easy pickings when it came to me. I'd always think of a snarky and witty comeback _after _they left. It drove me nuts.

I blame my father for this. He had been tearing me down since birth. Chopping away at me, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but a pathetic speck of dust. I grew up with the mentality that women are to stay home, breed, and keep their mouth shut. Even though I don't agree with that at all, it's been drilled into me all my life. Sometimes I can't help but relapse back into the days when I really would shut up and sit down when my father ordered me to.

I sit nervously on the sofa in Ben's living room with a hot cup of tea warming my hands and Pumba's warm little belly in my lap. Ben left to retrieve my mother, and he's been gone longer than I hoped he would be.

Alex sits on the sofa across from me. She looks similar to my sisters—thin build, brown eyes, dark hair. Nothing like myself. I inherited the majority of my DNA from my father, unfortunately. I'm on the shorter, stockier side. My face, thankfully, is that of my mother's—a nose that turns up at the point, a wide mouth and cheeks that bunch up when I smile. I also received her long curly eyelashes. I've never had to wear mascara—which is probably for the best, considering I'd most likely end up stabbing my eye with it by accident.

"Would you like some more tea?" Alex asks. "Are you hungry? I can get you something out of the fridge. I think we still have some strawberries." She seems sweet. Ever since she got home she's been waiting on me hand and foot.

I set my tea on the coffee table and give her a warm smile. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry." That's a lie, but I ignore the urge to eat out of boredom.

Alex tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth, suddenly looking as nervous as I feel. "Can I ask you something?"

I rub my nose and try to cross my legs without making Pumba uncomfortable in my lap. "Sure."

Alex looks down at her cup, embarrassment spreading across her face. "May I touch your hair?"

It's a good awkward minute or so before I can conjure any sort of response. "Uh . . . what?"

"Never mind," she says quickly.

I should ask her why she would request such an odd thing, but her embarrassment is embarrassing me, and I give her permission in the hopes of clearing the uncomfortable air.

Alex looks up and meets my eyes, sparkling with wonder and disbelief. "_Really?_" Before I can retract my offer, she hops up from the couch and runs both of her hands down the sides of my head. After she reaches the tips of my hair, Alex brings her hands up to her face and smiles as if someone had just announced she won the Super Lotto. "Are you _really _her? I mean, you don't look much older than me."

Something resembling a smile has twisted my facial features in a struggled attempt to be polite, but try as I might to relax, the whole touching thing has made my body clench. "Am I really . . . who?"

"_The_ Cora. The one from the stories I've been told."

"Stories?" Pumba squirms in my arms and I shift him until he finds a comfortable position. My eyes travel to the painting hanging above Ben's desk. Now that the drugs have worn off, I'd like to get a better look at it.

I realize almost instantly that the woman on the elk hasn't painted her face with red and black paint like I originally thought—her face is covered in blood and soot. Wild strands of long blonde hair blow sporadically behind her, twisting and tangling in a breeze. In one hand she holds tightly to reins attached to a harness strapped around the enormous elk's chest, and in the other hand she holds a bow. A quiver of arrows have been attached to her hip, next to a small assortment of daggers and a long hunting knife.

Whoever this is, she looks as savage as a Viking, and I suddenly have the irrational fear that she's about to jump out of the painting and kick my ass.

"Did this actually happen?" Alex asks from behind me.

"What?" I startle at her sudden question. "Did what happen?"

Alex points at the painting. "One of the elders painted that after your first raid."

I frown in confusion. "This is supposed to be me?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot about your head." Alex taps at her forehead and returns to her seat. "My dad says you don't remember anything."

Now I'm curious. I return to my seat across from her and say, "Tell me the story."

"About the painting?" Alex brightens and sits up straighter. "You rescued one of our people from the Initiative by riding through the compound on an elk. Everyone says you created such a mass panic that you were gone before people even knew to look for you." Alex sits up excitedly, teetering on the edge of the sofa. "You were our official animal ambassador."

_Animal ambassador?_

Alex deflates at my confused expression. "You don't remember that? My father says you're the one that freed all of the experiments."

_Experiments? Oh, she must be talking about Dharma._

It hits me hard and sudden, like a brick to the face. I don't know why it took me so long to figure it out. I realize why Richard and Ben are the only Others who recognize me personally, while the rest of the Others know me from folklore. I now know why Ben can control this entire village with the flick of his wrist and a few minutes of deep thought, only to become uncharacteristically skittish and uncertain when around me. It all makes sense that the Others look after so many different exotic animals who should by all rights have eaten the Others in their sleep long ago.

Ben met me for the first time in the 70's, but I'm meeting him for the first time right now. That part of _his _life hasn't happened for _me _yet.

As if on cue, Ben comes in the front door. I shoot up out of my seat, knocking a knee against the coffee table and spilling my tea all over the floor. I take three long strides towards the front of the room, stopping short when Sawyer walks in, followed closely by Juliet, who shuts the door behind her.

"Where is she?" I ask, trying to look behind them. _Is she waiting for me on the porch?_ "Well?" I ask impatiently. "Where is she?"

Ben blinks rapidly, startled, and then glances at Juliet. "I . . . I've brought her."

"I'm not in the mood for games," I yell. "Where is my mother?"

"But—" Ben glances from Juliet to me, seeming genuinely confused. "Is this not your daughter?"

Juliet rolls her eyes to me and looks me up and down with that annoyed smirk that I hate. "I've never met this girl before in my life. I don't have children, Ben. I don't know how many times I have to say it." Her steely gaze lands on Sawyer.

"Don't look at me," he says. "I don't know what the hell is going on."

"I'm Juliet, by the way," she says, turning her attention back to me.

I shake her hand. "Cora."

"It's nice to meet you." She shoots Ben a scathing sideways glance. "My condolences for getting yourself mixed up with this madhouse."

No matter how hard I try to fight it, I'm overwhelmed with lightheadedness. Slowly I sink to the floor, trying desperately to calm myself. The three of them are arguing, but I can't hear what they're saying. _She's not here. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay. Right?_

A hand on my arm makes me jump. It's Alex. "Cora?" she asks, her brown eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay? Do you want to sit down? Here, let me help you . . ." She leans down and helps hoist me to my feet, guiding me to the sofa.

I plop down in her seat, holding my head in my hands. "Ben?" I say, my breathing labored.

He pushes past Sawyer and Juliet, who are still arguing, and hurries over to kneel before me. "Yes?"

"Get me a bucket," I order shakily. "I don't want to vomit on your floor."

Luckily I'm able to hold in my sick long enough for Ben to give me a bag to barf in. The disturbing painting, worry over my family's whereabouts, this bizarre new animal communication superpower I have—this is too much to handle.

_Okay, say that I actually decide to believe in all this. Say I decide that this is, in fact, reality . . . what now? How do I know what to do in this world when my very presence has changed major plot points, and my favorite character isn't even acting like he's supposed to? How do I know what to do to keep myself alive in a show that loves killing off its characters?_

I make my way to the sink and rinse out my mouth. "Ben?" I call. The water from the sink runs over my skin. I cup my hands, fill them with water, and splash it on my face to cool myself down.

"Yes?" Ben answers, standing beside me at the sink.

"Do you have a list of all the passengers that were on flight Oceanic?"

He nods. "I do."

"Was my name on it?"

He pauses before answering. "No."

"Was any woman with the name Marguerite on it?"

"Miss Colllins, I don't—"

"Was my mother on the plane, or wasn't she?"

Ben releases a nervous chuckle. "I'm sorry, but I'm a little . . . confused. Marguerite was your pet, not your mother." He nods towards Sawyer and Juliet, who have stopped bickering to listen in on our conversation. "Those are your parents."

I shut off the water and turn to face him. I want to be nothing but angry, but I can't help my body's natural response to surge with adrenaline from being so close to him. God, I'm pathetic. "No, _I _know for a fact that those are _not _my parents! My mother isn't blonde, and my father isn't a . . . okay yes, he's a hick, but he isn't . . . _Sawyer!_"

"I'm gonna do you a favor," Sawyer calls from across the room, "and take that as a compliment."

I find myself locked in a staring contest, refusing to be the one to look away first. Ben's eyes dart from one side of my face to the other, studying me, and my face grows hot. I look away first.

"No," he finally answers. "There was no one named Marguerite on the plane."

I can't look back up, so I stare at a scuff in the wood flooring. "Thank you," I whisper, but not necessarily to Ben. I whisper it to God or Jacob or whomever it was that kept her where she's supposed to be.

* * *

Apparently I own a house not too far from here, but it hasn't been touched since the 70's. Alex tells me that Ben doesn't allow anyone to go inside, and it won't be in livable condition for a few days.

Sawyer is sent to stay in Juliet's guest bedroom, and I'm to sleep on the couch with the Linus's. Alex insisted.

I think Sawyer has been sufficiently weirded out for the time being. He doesn't pitch a fit when his living courters are arranged without his consent, and he doesn't even say goodbye to me before he leaves.

Dinner consists of a leafy salad, bowls of assorted fruits, and some weird jelly-like substance browned in sauce. I poke at it, half expecting it to leap at me and latch onto my face.

"It's tofu," Ben explains.

I cringe.

"We're vegetarians," Alex says proudly.

"That's nice," I reply, trying to hide my disappointment. No wonder Ben looks thinner than he's supposed to. "Are all of the Others vegetarians?"

"Yep." Alex takes a big bite out of her gelatinous blob.

Ben hasn't touched a bite of his food. He's been too busy watching me from across the table. "Do you not like it?" He sounds worried. "I can make you something else, if you'd prefer."

I glance down at Pumba's food bowl. He's rooting through the exact same meal that lies before me, only _he's_ really enjoying it. He oinks happily. I suppose I should get used to eating vegetarian. Being able to talk to animals has already made the thought of bacon impure. "No, thank you. This is fine." I scoop up a chunk, take a deep breath, and shovel it in.

The texture takes a little getting used to, but the flavor is surprisingly delicious. I relax in my seat and take another bite. Ben smiles at me from across the table and begins eating his own food.

"Where's Marguerite?" Alex asks randomly. She looks from me to Ben, waiting for an answer.

At first I have no idea what she's talking about. Then I remember that crazy woman who cried over the polar bear Sawyer shot. "The polar bear," I ask, "was her name Marguerite? Is she . . . dead?"

"I'm afraid so," Ben says sadly. "Alex—"

"Dead?" Alex exclaims, pushing out of her seat. "What happened?"

I'm suddenly very interested in my tofu.

"It was an accident," Ben tells her, while looking at me.

Alex follows her father's trail of sight. "Cora?" she asks quietly. "What happened?"

Sweat is beginning to gather on my brow. My hands moisten and my heart speeds up. _Oh, God. Say something. Tell her you didn't do it. Say something. Come on! You're innocent, right? You didn't shoot the bear! Tell her! _I take another bite of tofu.

Alex is so upset she doesn't even stay for dessert. She slams the door to her room and turns off the lights.

I sit slumped at the table, growing hungrier by the second. "Am I allowed to leave?" I ask.

Ben raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Of course, Miss Collins. You're a guest, not a hostage. Would you like a tour of the—"

"No, thank you," I mumble, already pushing out of my seat and making a hasty retreat for the door. Being outside helps, but only a little. The sun has almost completely set, and everyone has retreated into their homes to eat dinner.

"Hello," a voice calls from below. I look down to find a small red fox sitting at my feet. "What are you up to so late at night?"

"Just out for a walk."

"Mind if I tag along?" he asks.

"Sure."

"It's nice to meet someone who understands me," the fox says. "The humans here are nice. Bereft of intelligence, but nice all the same."

I laugh, releasing the tension from dinner. "Why do you say that?"

"I can understand what they are saying, but they cannot understand what I am saying. You call this intelligence?"

"You can understand English?" I ask in amazement.

"When you've lived with humans your entire life, you learn their language one way or another. It shouldn't be that surprising."

We've reached a white gazebo. I take a seat under it, and the fox jumps up next to me, studying me with its cunning black eyes. "What is your name?" I ask.

"Todd," he answers with a flick of his bushy tail. "And you are the illustrious Cora, are you not?"

"I suppose I am."

"You suppose?" Todd crosses his paws and rests his head on them. "Dear me, how dreadful it must be not to know who you are."

"You don't know the half of it," I mumble.

The fox barks a laugh and licks my hand. "I like you. I have the feeling this is the start of a rewarding and quite amusing relationship."

I smile and reach out to pet him, pausing halfway to his ears. "Um, sorry, am I allowed to pet you? I don't want to be disrespectful."

The fox lifts his head from his paws and perks his ears up. "I must admit I don't usually let people poke and prod at me. But I will most definitely accept a good scratch behind the ears from you."

I scratch his ears in silence, thinking about the polar bear named after my mother. She charged out of nowhere, and chose me of all people to chase. But she was never violent when she caught up to me. She just sniffed and poked me with her nose, making grumbling noises. She knew me.

_She was trying to talk to me. What was she saying?_

"What are you thinking about?" Todd asks.

"Nothing."

Across the lot, in a house with beautiful pink flowers in the front, a man slams the front door and stalks away, heading for the gazebo. The man gets right up to where I'm sitting before he finally notices I'm there. In the fading light I can just make out that the man is Goodwin.

"Whoa," he says, startled. "Sorry about that. I didn't see you. The light is . . . not very bright. . . I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"As a matter of fact, you are," says Todd.

"We're just getting some air," I tell him.

He sighs and shakes his head. "Sorry, you're Cora, right?"

"Yeah."

"The animal lady."

"I guess." The more I remember about Goodwin's character, the more the very sight of him starts to piss me off. He had an affair with Juliet and just pretended like his wife didn't exist. I remember my friends would make jokes about Harper—Goodwin's wife—and laugh about the mole on her face, but I always pitied her. Personal bias, I guess.

"This is one of the less intelligent humans," Todd informs me.

I try to stifle my laughter, but I fail miserably.

"What?" Goodwin asks. "Is that fox badmouthing me?"

"Only because you make it incredibly easy," Todd banters.

By now I'm leaning back in my seat, laughing hysterically.

Goodwin looks uncomfortable. "I'll let you two get back to your conversation. It was nice meeting you, Cora."

"Sure," I say, wiping away a tear. I wait until Goodwin is out of earshot before saying, "What makes him less intelligent than most?"

Todd ignores my question. "You don't very much care for him either, do you?"

"No," I answer honestly. "Was I that obvious?"

"Your body tensed. And you reek of perspiration and—" He sniffs the air. "—Fear."

I don't like talking with Todd anymore.

When I tell him I want to go home, Todd insists in walking me back. I realize with embarrassment that I need him to anyway, since it's now completely dark and I don't know where in Othersville I am.

"This house belongs to Amelia. Very nice woman. She looks after Onyx, whom I believe you've already met. Rude creature, that one. Always complaining that she's underfed." Todd trots alongside me, his furry little paws making absolutely no sound. "Jane is the island nutritionist. She lives over there with her boyfriend, David, even though she flirts with all the scientists down at the lab. Poor David is oblivious. And over there is Ethan's house. He's the island doctor. He recently lost his wife to the dreaded pregnancy crisis. I believe you've already met him as well. He's a little . . . odd, but he's never caused me any grievances."

"Pregnancy crisis?"

"Pregnant women die here. That's why women are shipped back to the mainland within their first trimester. The one's who are not willing to sacrifice themselves and their unborn babe for science, of course."

"That's horrible. How many have died?"

"Upwards of 8 within the past twenty years, last I've heard." Todd makes a sharp turn and we walk past picnic tables. "That's where dear old Juliet comes into play. She lives in that house right over there. She was brought here three years ago to help solve the pregnancy crisis, but so far she's had no such luck."

"Why do you know so much about everyone?"

"I make it my business to know," Todd answers proudly. I've already made up my mind that I need to spend a day or two with him. He might be able to help clear up some of my questions. "Ah, here we are." Todd has a seat on the first step leading up to Ben's porch. He wraps his tail around himself and looks up at me. "Watch out for yourself, Cora. I enjoy your company. It would be a shame if something were to happen to you."

I stop abruptly, one foot on the first step. "What do you mean?"

"Benjamin is the cleverest human I've ever met. He's almost fox material, and I don't just hand out praise of that magnitude."

"What are you saying?" From everything I've gathered, I'm not in any danger. In fact—and I hope I'm not just horrible at reading people—Ben seems to like me. I don't know why, but I'm not about to start asking questions.

"I'm just saying you need to keep your eyes open, like me. Stop wandering around without taking notice of your surroundings. It's going to get you into trouble."

I can't believe I'm getting a safety lecture from a fox. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

"I've heard things," Todd says ominously. "Strange things."

My stomach begins to ache. "Like what?"

"From what I hear, Ben is going to keep you very busy these next few weeks. Busy and sweaty. It should be very informative for you."

"What?"

"Goodnight." With a final swish of his bushy tail, Todd takes off.

The front door opens, and I turn to find Ben standing in the doorway. "Oh, good," he says, "you're back. It's getting late. Are you coming inside?"


	8. Never Borrow Underwear

"Has she come out at all?" Alex's door is still shut, but I don't hear her crying or yelling or anything. The whole house is silent except for the occasional creak of the floorboards or pipes.

"No." Ben looks exhausted. "I was just about to make tea. Would you care for some?"

Tea is like a drug around here, and I feel inclined to accept. "Sure. Thank you."

Pumba appears at my feet, swaying drowsily. "I'm full," he says. "I'm ready for sleep now, Cora."

"Soon, sweetheart." I'm not tired. I'm not even close to being tired. Not after my little chat with Todd. Who knew foxes could be perverted? Seriously, who knew?

Ben flits about the kitchen, filling the teapot with water, gathering the tea things, and laying out some cookies on a serving tray. Once or twice he absentmindedly knocks an elbow or a knee against the counter in his haste. I wonder why he's in such a flustered hurry. There's no reason for him to rush. It's only tea.

My face grows warm when I remember the episode where Ben tricks Juliet into coming over to his house for a date. He cloaked the lie with the excuse of a dinner party. Turned out to be a party of two. He's acting that way now. Like if he doesn't set the tea things out fast enough, I'll get angry and very bad things will happen. Slap on a frilly pink apron and an oven mitt and he'd be the perfect housewife. The ridiculous visual image makes me giggle so incessantly that I have to turn away and pretend to cough.

Pumba has passed out at my feet, his belly full to bursting. He has the cutest little snore that shakes his entire body with each exhalation.

I hope we can find his mother tomorrow. I can't stand the fact that he's been separated from his family. Maybe I can convince her and the rest of her babies to come live here with all the rest of the animals. They would be much safer, and they would never have to worry about food ever again.

Thinking about wild animals has reminded me of Marguerite. I wonder how many people hate me because she's dead. "I just want to apologize again for what happened to Marguerite," I say, loud enough so Ben can hear, but not loud enough to reach Alex's room. "She seemed well loved."

"She was," he confirms somberly.

"What was she like?"

Ben heaves a sigh.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

"No, no." He waves my words away with his hand. "It's just odd to know she's gone. She's been such a prominent fixture here for so long. . ." He shrugs.

I don't ask any more questions.

Instead of taking a seat across from me on the couch, Ben returns to the living room with a plate of cookies, and he sits down right next to me. His pressed kakis brush up against my thigh and all sorts of warning bells start going off in my head. I turn to face him, and at the same time I push myself backwards ever so slightly so he's no longer touching me. It's the only polite way I can think of handling the situation.

Ben holds out the plate of cookies in offering, but I decline. My stomach growls, dissatisfied with my decision. "I'll have some with the tea," I say.

Ben nods and places the tray on the coffee table, his posture tense and ridged. He doesn't try to scoot closer to me to bridge the gap I've created. He's not even looking at me, actually. I wonder if this is what I look like when I'm nervous.

I'm struck with a sudden traumatic memory.

_I'm 13 years old. My mother has just driven me to my first co-ed party at the house of one of the most popular girls at school. I begged her to just drop me off and pick me up at 10pm, but she only agreed to let me stay if she met the parents first and assessed the situation. After she finally leaves, I head into the living room, where the party is taking place. The lights are down low, giving me goosebumps as I look for a place to sit._

_ I was punctual, and apparently that's not cool because there are only a few people here, and none of them belong to the popular crowd. I don't see my best friend anywhere, so I take a seat on the sofa and play with my skirt. I don't know why I wore a skirt. I hate skirts. I hate the feeling of vulnerability. I hate that I can't bend over without worrying I'll flash everyone. _

_ I've had a massive stomachache all day, and even though I've been craving nothing but salt and chocolate for the past week, I stay away from the snack table filled with bowls of chips, Heresy's kisses, and a platter of tiny triangle sandwiches. If I start to gorge myself now, I'll never be able to stop, and this whole show of dressing up in uncomfortable clothes and hanging out with people who don't even like me will all be for naught._

_ That's when my world stops._

_ Patrick Higgins—the boy I've had a fanatic crush on since the 1__st__ grade—has arrived._

_ I start aggressively straightening my clothes._

_ Patrick makes his way around the room giving people high fives and munching on the chips I crave so badly. To my complete shock, he plops down on the seat next to me. "Hey," he says._

_ "Hi," I manage to squeak out. I can't move. I've been completely paralyzed. I'm sitting as ram-rod straight as my spine will allow, my fingernails digging into my sweaty palms. In fact, my whole body has broken out into a sweat, and I'm forced to yank an arm up to wipe away beads of perspiration gathering on my forehead._

_ "Karly, right?"_

_ My face is on fire. "Um, actually it's Cora."_

_ Patrick slaps his forehead and says, "Oh, Cora! Right. So, when did you get here?"_

_ I'm in complete bliss that he's even talking to me. "Just now," I say. I want to say more, but my throat has closed up._

_ He scoots closer and places a hand on my leg. "You look really nice tonight. I like this skirt. You should wear it to school."_

_ "Thanks," I breathe. And then my guts explode._

_ I end up doubled over, gasping. The pain is unbearable. I'm going to die. I stand up and stumble in the direction of the front door. I need to call my mother. I need to call 911._

_ Somebody screams. I turn around, and the host of the party is pointing at me with a trembling finger. "Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew!" she screeches bloody murder, her face slowly reddening with fury._

_ One of her friends screams, "She got it on your couch!"_

_ I stand there in the middle of the room, in pain, and utterly confused with what's happening. Then I see the blood._

_ I'm dying._

Of course, I wasn't _actually _dying, I just didn't fully understand what a menstrual cycle was. Catholic school and a very Catholic mother probably didn't help.

I snap out of my memory only to notice that Ben has been silently watching my cringing face while I relive one of the worst moments of my life.

"Ok," I announce, and he's quick to give me his undivided attention. "I am really socially awkward, and I don't know how to approach this situation, so I'm just going to say it. You know me, don't you? From a long time ago, right?"

"Yes," he answers softly.

"I was in the Dharma Initiative, wasn't I? Sawyer and Juliet and I."

He keeps those intense eyes on me. "Yes."

"And you and I . . . we were friends?"

He nods, seemingly relieved that I've figured out another piece of this bizarre puzzle. When I don't continue, he looks away, blinking back embarrassment. "Forgive me for staring. It's just . . . I haven't seen you in a very long time."

"How long?"

Without missing a beat he answers, "28 years."

_28 years? _I immediately start thinking of what I will feel like 28 years from now. Assuming I live that long, of course. 28 years without my mother, my sisters, and my brother—the only people who love me as much as I love them.

"That painting," I say, pointing to the woman on the elk. "Is that supposed to be me?"

"It is," Ben answers quietly. "That was one of the few instances in which I actually witnessed one of your raids."

This is lunacy. These people have the wrong girl. I'm not some kind of ancient warrior. I can't even kill household rodents without thinking of the moral ramifications on my spiritual life.

My pounding heartbeat is killing me. I can't handle this much anxiety. I wish Ben would stop staring at me, but I don't know a polite way to tell him to stop. And it's not just that he's staring at me, it's the way his eyes focus so sharply, so intensely that you start to feel indecent.

"Can you fill me in? I'm feeling really lost here." I'd laugh, but it might give Ben a reason to evade my questions.

He smiles sadly. "I wish that I could."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you anything about your past." His brows scrunch in confusion. "Or future. Or however that works out. In fact, it has been strictly forbidden. All of us have been instructed to let you remember your memories on your own."

"Says who?" I frown. "Jacob?" Ben doesn't answer, but his eyes do. "Yeah, well, Jacob can take a long walk off a short pier."

"Miss Collins—"

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"I'm sorry," he apologizes sheepishly. "Old habits die hard."

_Jacob is such a rat. How am I supposed to "remember" my past when it hasn't happened for me yet? WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO BE A TIME TRAVELING ISLAND? _

We sit in silence while I grow more uncomfortably warm by the second. Finally, the silence is too much. "Alright," I say. "Considering only one of us remembers the other, can we start over? Hello, sir. My name is Cora." I hold out a hand for him to shake.

Ben's grip is firm, and his hands are warm and dry. He offers me a smile—one of the lopsided ones that are more smirk than smile. "Benjamin. It's nice to meet you." The teapot chooses this moment to whistle. Ben shoots up, and immediately my lungs relax, letting out a gust of nervous air. Ben returns with a tray of tea things and pours me a cup first. When he offers me my cup, he also holds up the tray of cookies.

I know that if I eat one of those cookies, if I let even a single crumb enter my mouth, I'm going to end up devouring the entire plate like a starving animal and embarrass myself. With great reluctance I say, "On second thought, no thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't need it."

"Nonsense. You look good," he says, and then quickly corrects, "healthy, I mean. I mean, you look . . ." He sets the cookies down and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. It's been so long since I've last seen you. I don't even know where to begin."

"I guess you can start with the basics."

"Which are?"

"What do you like to do for fun?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Ben takes a sip of tea. "Read, mostly."

Not surprising. Most of his house is covered in books. There are floor-to-wall bookshelves in the living room, dinning room, and most likely his study, wherever that is. The literature major in me wants so badly to walk over and inspect his collection. I don't remember learning about his favorite genre during the show. "Me too," I answer.

"Is it my turn to ask a question?"

"Sure."

Ben sits quietly for a while, staring out across the room. When he decides to look at me, his voice is so soft I can barely hear him. "Do you honestly not remember me at all?"

"Honestly? I don't know how to answer that." _Where do I even begin?_ "This is the first time I'm meeting you, if that's what you mean."

Judging by his disappointment, this isn't what he wanted to hear. But what am I supposed to say? I can't remember what hasn't happened yet.

Watching his sad form sip tea is making me hungry and upset. I need to go to sleep. "Can I take a shower?" I ask. _Good Lord, how long has it been since I took a shower? Three days? Four? Five?_

"Yes, of course. The hallway bathroom is broken." Ben rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Ethan was supposed to fix it, but I don't see that happening any time soon. I'm afraid you'll have to use the one in my room for the time being." He stands and starts heading down the hallway. "I can wake Alex up and ask for a pair of pajamas."

"Alex?" I snort a laugh. "Somehow I don't think her clothes are going to fit me."

Ben pauses. "You can borrow a pair of mine, if that doesn't bother you."

"Considering I don't sleep naked," I blurt out, "I guess that will do." _Ladies and gentlemen, all aboard the cringe train, now leaving the station. Choo, choo._

I follow Ben to his room. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out light blue pajama pants and a matching button down pajama shirt. "There are clean towels in the cupboard under the sink. Is there anything else you need?"

_Clean undergarments would be nice. But there is no way I'm wearing a pair of used boxers. That is, if he even wears boxers. What other options do men have? Boxers and what? I swear I've heard of another option before. Oh, wait, briefs. Boxers and briefs. Okay, why am I thinking about this?_ "I'm good, thanks."

Ben leaves down the hallway, out of sight.

As soon as the bedroom door is closed, I lock it. I feel only slightly bad when I begin to snoop. How often does someone get this opportunity?

I find nothing under his bed. Not even a single dustbunny.

His closet is disgustingly organized. Pants hang on one side and shirts on the other. Not a crease in sight. Also, no interesting discoveries in sight, either.

On his walls are a few photos of Alex in various stages of her life. There's a poster of the constellations, and another poster depicts a detailed food web.

I decide to inspect the dresser in the far side of the room—the one he keeps his pajamas in. On top of the dresser is an assortment of little wooden animals carved out of wood. I quietly open the top drawer, and my questions concerning male undergarments are answered. I slam it shut in mortification and open the bottom drawer. Inside is an array of certificates. The top one is for mastering Krav Maga, the official fighting style of the Israeli Army.

Suddenly I feel both creepy and creeped out.

Ashamed with my snooping, I turn around to walk to the shower and nearly trip over a huge white puff. "HOLY—"

"Agh!" the frightened rabbit yelps. "Don't step on me!"

"You scared me to death," I pant with a hand pressed to my heaving chest. "What are you doing in here?" I add defensively.

The rabbit talks a mile a minute. "I live here. What are _you_ doing in here? _What was that?" _Its ears shoot straight up as it balances on its hind legs, listening intently. "I don't like this. I want to go back in my cage. Put me back in my cage! Please, I beg you! _What was that? _Did you hear it? _Did you hear it?_"

There's a knock on the bedroom door. "Miss Collins? I heard yelling. Are you alright?"

The paranoid rabbit has begun clawing at my leg. "Lift me up! I beg you!"

I pick the rabbit up by its scruff and open the door. "He wants in his cage," I say, shoving the rabbit in Ben's arms and closing the door with a swift click.

I waste way too much time in the shower mixing all the soaps and shampoos together. I used to do this all the time when I was a kid because it was fun to pretend like I was making magic potions. It helps calm me down after all the confusing information I just received.

It feels good to be clean. At least now I know I don't stink.

I pull on Ben's pajamas. It feels weird wearing pajamas without undergarments, and the pants are too tight around my thighs, but I'll live. Ben's pajamas also have a very distinct scent—a little bit of soap and cologne that never fully washed out. I can't help but breathe it in. I gather up my dirty shirt and pants and underwear and dump them in the linen basket by the door.

I find Ben siting in the living room, drinking more tea. He sits up straighter when he sees me. "I've laid out some clean sheets and a pillow for you. You can cover the sofa with one, if you'd like."

"Thank you."

Ben gathers all of the tea things and takes them back to the kitchen. "You need to get your sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Doing what?" I ask.

"Training, of course."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," I say. "Nobody said anything about training."

"No?" His eyebrows rise in mock surprise. "Must have slipped my mind. My apologies."

"What exactly am I training for?"

"My position," Ben explains, eerily content. "You're to replace me as our leader."


	9. A Dead End

The darkness weighs heavy on my chest.

I'm not trying to be poetic; the darkness is a very real entity that is crushing my lungs by pushing down hard on my chest. _Cora, _it calls faintly. I swat at the air, but my hand sifts through nothingness. I don't remember the last time I was this paranoid.

Pumba snores quietly, curled up snug as a bug next to me under the blankets. I envy him. While he sleeps, comforted by my presence, I lie awake on Benjamin Linus's couch, staring up at the ceiling, drowning in a pool of my own sweat.

I see something flicker in the corner of my eye, and my entire body tingles with the anticipation of danger. I try to find the movement, but I can't make anything out in the darkness. A large drop of sweat trails down my forehead and stings my eyes. I rub it away and survey the darkness once more.

I don't even know what I'm looking for. I don't even know what it is that's frightening me. Then I see the flicker again. I'm consumed with a strange sense of dread.

It isn't long before I realize I won't be sleeping tonight. There are too many monsters hiding in the shadows.

I throw off the blankets and scramble to switch on the lamp sitting next to the couch. As soon as the light brightens a small area of the living room, I hurry to the lamp seated on Ben's work desk by the front door. By the time I'm satisfied, the entire front half of the house is blazing with light. I plop back down on the sofa and Pumba grunts in annoyance. I apologize and hang my head in shame.

"What's wrong, Cora?"

I jump out of my skin. Alex is standing in the hallway, rubbing her eyes and shielding them from the light. "I'm sorry," I apologize. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," she admits. "I can't sleep either."

She takes a seat next to me, but we both remain silent. I can tell she's still grieving. I can see it in her eyes.

My brain suddenly starts alerting me of all the things that are supposed to happen soon. _Claire was supposed to be captured, Charlie was supposed to be hanged and saved a while later, a woman drowns offshore ._ . . I Put my face in my hands. _She's probably already drowned. Who else am I not going to be able to save? Oh, no, Artz! Has he been blown into a thousand pieces yet? I need to make a list._

"Alex?" I ask. "Would you mind getting me a notebook and pen?"

* * *

"You're gonna do _what_?"

"I already told you, Sawyer. I promised Pumba I would find his mother. I think I might be able to persuade her to come live with us here."

"How many drugs have they given you?" Sawyer asks worriedly.

"Stop it, Sawyer. I'm not drugged."

He leans in closer and lowers his voice. "You really think it's a good idea to go wandering off into the jungle with the same people who _abducted us_?"

He's too close, and angry, and pushy, and it's striking a nerve. "You're not my father," I say bluntly. "I don't need you to protect me."

I seem to have stunned him, and for a moment I feel absolutely horrible. Then he holds out his hands and backs away from me. "You got that right. Go on then." He's gone before I can apologize.

I feel three inches tall. My throat tears like I've swallowed broken glass, and my legs won't move no matter how much I urge them to. I want so badly to apologize, but I'm too emotionally messed up to function properly.

"Very tactful," Juliet's voice comes from behind me. "You know he's right. It's not safe to go—"

"I'm sorry," I snap. A second ago I couldn't find the words, but _now _I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. "Are you my mother? No? Then leave me alone. I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."

Juliet gives me one of those horrible, condescending smirks. "Obviously."

I don't know why everything is pissing me off so much. I _know _Sawyer is only looking out for my best interests. I know that. But I guess I've been told what to do for so long that I can't handle it anymore. And it doesn't help that he reminds me so much of my stupid, cocky, southern father. It all stews in my stomach until I'm sick.

"You do have a way with words, my dear."

I look down to find Todd licking his front paw. "Oh, it's you."

"It's nice to see you too, darling," he says sarcastically.

"Sorry. I've been snapping at everyone lately. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's all those lovely hormones," he states. "Aren't humans supposed to be making babies at your age?" Todd sniffs at my pant leg. "And why are you wearing Ben's clothing? There is another female living under the same roof!"

"I don't fit her clothes."

Ben emerges with Alex biting at his heals.

"But why can't I go?" she whines.

"It's not up for discussion, Alex."

"That's not fair!" she complains, stomping her foot like a two year old. "You never let me do anything!"

I can't help but think of my sisters. If any of us had ever spoken to our father like that, we would have been pushing up daisies.

But Ben only turns away from her, rolling his eyes. "Alex, please try to be mature about this."

Down the path, a ways away, I watch Goodwin exit his house and enter the cafeteria.

Wait.

_Why is Goodwin still here? I thought Ben sent him to scope out the tail section of the plane when it crashed._

"What was that?" Ben asks.

I didn't even know I had spoken aloud. "Nothing. Just . . . talking with Todd." I glance down, and the fox gives me a knowing look.

"I hear today is your first day of training," Todd says.

"I don't know. We're supposed to be searching for Pumba's mother, so I can persuade her to come live here."

Todd's ears perk up. "Ah, then you are in need of my expertise after all."

"You're coming with us?" I'm surprised at this. Todd doesn't exactly strike me as someone who risks his wellbeing for others.

"You must admit my sense of smell is a tad bit better than all three of you combined," he says smugly.

"But why do you want to help?" I stare him down, suspicious. "What's in it for you?"

"You wound me, Cora." His head sinks down while his eyes stay focused up at me. "Can't a fox lend a helping hand without having an ulterior motive?"

I raise an eyebrow. "No, I don't think they can."

"Smart girl," Todd replies, laughing.

Pumba wriggles in my arms until I set him down. Then he scurries over to Todd and rubs his little snout against Todd's paw.

Todd cocks his head, confused. "You must forgive me, little one. I'm not fluent in pig."

"He's thanking you," I say. "We're both thankful you're here, Todd."

"But of course."

"I take it Todd will be joining us?" Ben asks.

"I suppose he is," I say.

As to why, however, I've yet to find out.

* * *

I stand looking up at the large invisible fence that separates us from the jungle ahead. The whir of the sonic fence pulsates through my body, and I suddenly don't want to leave. I had completely forgotten about the smoke monster—the reason why the fence was constructed in the first place.

"Miss Collins," Ben asks loudly, and I snap back to attention. "Have you been listening to me?" When I don't answer, he frowns. "When we pass through the fence, I ask that you obey only one rule."

"Fine," I say. "And that is?"

"Do not leave my sight," he orders, enunciating each word. Then he leans down and types in a sequence of numbers into a pin pad, and the fence stops whirring. "Let's go."

The jungle is just how I remember it, only nosier, now that I can understand what all the birds are saying. Gossip. Nothing but gossip from the female birds. Nothing but catcalls from the males. It slowly starts to get on my nerves.

I take a deep breath and ask, "Are we not going to talk about it?"

Ben follows after Todd. Somehow his steps are making as few sounds as Todd himself. "Talk about what?"

"About me replacing you." I glance at him to see his reaction, but his calm expression never changes. "Doesn't it upset you?"

"Why would it upset me?" he asks, turning and stopping right in front of me. I almost run into him.

"It upsets _me_," I say, taking a step back. "I don't know what I'm doing. Who makes these decisions, anyways?" I think of the answer on my own and roll my eyes. "You know, I'm really getting sick of him."

"Jacob knows what he's doing."

"Jacob is an idiot."

Ben's lips press together hard to form a thin straight line. I don't even care if he yells at me anymore. But he doesn't yell at me. He just sharply turns away and continues to trail Todd, picking up the pace and not looking back to see if I'm keeping up. "You shouldn't say such things about him."

"Or what?" I question sarcastically. "He'll jump out from behind a bush and impale me with a homemade spear? And can you slow down, please?"

Ben takes pity on me and falls back, but he continues to keep his eyes straight ahead. "Jacob has been our leader for as long as there has been an island. His experience is infallible. So, yes, I'd have to say he knows what he's doing."

"You don't even know what you're talking about, so forgive me for not believing you." _Jacob wasn't even the original island caretaker. Ha. Something that I know that Ben doesn't. _I scowl deeply, seething with anger and resentment. Jacob has a way of screwing everything up, and yet people put so much faith in him. Why? Poor fools. They don't even realize what's going on. They are mere pawns in his sick game of chess. Or whatever that old Egyptian game was that he used to play with his bother.

We continue on, following after Todd in silence.

Ben is the first to break it. "Try to _avoid_ the vines and rocks, Miss Collins," he complains. "We're trying to strengthen your stealth." The annoyance in his voice makes me grind my teeth.

"I _am_ trying," I snap back.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to try harder. Your footsteps can no doubt be heard halfway across the island."

I puff up, trying to think of a winning insult. "You know, you can go and—"

Todd trots over, obviously irritated with the both of us. "As amusing as it is to listen in on your lovers quarrel, might I suggest we remain silent for the remainder of this excursion? I hear someone up ahead."

"What is he saying?" Ben asks.

"He wants us to be quiet. He hears something." In fact, now that he mentions it, I hear someone too.

I follow closely behind Ben, trying my best to place my feet where he does so I don't make noise.

The people speaking are John Locke and Boone. From the looks of it, they have found the hatch and are trying to dig it up and open it. I strain to listen in on their conversation. Locke is talking about Michelangelo.

Todd—who had gone on ahead to scope out the area—comes barreling through the trees towards us, slinking over vines and brush like a snake. "Cora, I think it wise to abort this mission."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Todd looks up at where Pumba lounges in my arms. "Can you understand me, little pig?"

"What?" Pumba asks.

"I asked if you can understand me."

"What?"

"Good. Cora, the pig you are looking for is currently being prepared for a meal. It seems your survivor friends are having her for dinner."

"Is she—?"

"Yes. I'm afraid she's dead."

My whole body goes numb. _What do I do now? What am I supposed to tell Pumba?_ I'm going to throw up.

"Who's out there?" Locke calls.

I instinctively drop down and hold Pumba close to my chest. Todd crouches down next to me. I don't know where Ben went.

"Hello?" Locke calls.

Nervous sweat slips down my back. I try to keep my breathing silent, but it's hard to breathe normally in a crouch, especially in this humidity.

Of course, Pumba chooses this moment to oink.

"What is it?" Boone asks nervously, straining to see through the foliage.

"It's only a piglet," Locke answers, uninterested, and sits back down to continue his speech.

I silently sigh with relief.

My relief disappears when I realize both Ben and Todd are nowhere to be found.

* * *

"Hello?" I whisper hoarsely into the darkness. "Hello? Ben? Todd? Can you hear me?"

My only reply is a bird who mimics my call.

"Excuse me," I ask the bird, like so many others before it, "have you seen a fox recently?"

"What does the human want?" it asks.

"I just told you what I want," I say hotly. "Have you seen a fox?"

"Is that human _talking_?" another bird joins in. "Look at that! A talking human!"

"Cora, I want to go home," says Pumba.

Nightfall came swiftly. I've been wandering aimlessly for hours. At first I debated whether or not I should just go back to the survivors camp back at the beach, but then I realized that would mean Pumba would see his dead mother's carcass, and I'd also be drilled with questions about where Sawyer went.

So I decided on the brilliant plan to try and find the sonic fence on my own.

"I'm hungry," Pumba complains. "I haven't eaten all day."

I'm starving beyond all belief, but the only thing keeping my mind off my hunger is fear. For once in my life I'm more afraid than hungry.

_We're going to die out here, alone, with empty bellies._

My heart soars at the sound of a familiar voice.

"There you are." Todd appears from out of the darkness, and I explode with nervous laughter.

"Oh, thank God. Thank God!" I practically scream. "I thought I would never see you again!"

"You make me blush," says Todd. "Well, now that I've found you, I guess I should return you. I'm sure today has been quite the adventure." He flicks his tail against my ankle while he circles me. "Has Ben kept you as busy as I prophesized?"

I frown down at him, remembering what he said yesterday. "You're such a pervert."

"Well, what on earth did you think I meant?" he asks slyly. "You are exactly like I said you would be—busy, sweaty, and informed."

"You could have elaborated."

"A fox has to have fun somehow."

Ben rushes to greet us when we reach the fence. "I went out to look for you, and Todd was looking for me, and we . . . and you—"

"It's okay." I cuddle Pumba closer. "I'm fine. And I've discovered birds are not as intelligent as we give them credit for."

"I'm hungry," Pumba complains.

"Me too," I agree.

* * *

I'm peppered with questions from Ben and Alex and Sawyer and some loud lady I've never met before. Pumba hates all the attention almost as much as I do. He squirms around in my lap, sleepy after his dinner, but not comfortable enough to actually fall asleep.

When everyone finally decides to leave me alone, I ready myself for a conversation that needs to be had. "Pumba, I need to talk to you." I sit him in my lap so he's facing me. "Your mother . . . she's . . ." I gulp down saliva that has collected in the back of my throat. I'm already coated in nervous sweat.

"Where is she?" he asks.

"She's dead," I finally choke out.

"Okay."

"Pumba, do you know what that means?"

"No." He presses his snout against my arm. "When can I see her again?"

I set him down on the floor and pace the living room. "I can't do this."

"You must," Ben says sadly. "He can't understand me."

"Are we going to look for her tomorrow?" Pumba asks optimistically.

"No, Pumba, listen to me. Your mother is dead. She's can't be found. She's gone."

"But you said we were going to go find her."

"You're not listening to me—"

"You said you were going to find her!" Pumba emits an earsplitting scream and knocks over a chair. He starts running all over the house, pushing books off the shelf and chewing up the edge of the rug. Nobody stops him. I sit down on the sofa and wait for him to calm down.

When he returns to me, he won't so much as oink. He just plops down at my feet.

I can't help it. I start laughing hysterically.

* * *

"I really don't feel like doing anything today."

Ben finishes strapping a backpack to himself and starts packing mine. "It's best to start early. It's cooler at this time of day. You'll thank me later."

This morning I was awoken at four—before the sun had even risen—to ready myself for more training. This time we're staying within the confinement of the sonar fence.

Not that it helps my mood any. I feel drowsy and apathetic. Pumba still hasn't said a word, and the longer he stays silent, the worse I feel.

I follow Ben over a hill and through some trees to a wide, flat plain of green grass. I zone out enough that I don't even notice Alex is with us until she shakes my arm.

"Here," she says. "Take it."

Alex hands me a bamboo stick about three feet long. She's holding one for herself in her other hand.

I accept it with a questioning look. "You're going to teach me how to hit things with a stick? I _know _how to hit things with a stick. I don't need your help with that."

"The exercise is about reflexes, Miss Collins," Ben tells me, taking a step back. "The point is to try to _not _get hit with a stick."

"Ready? GO!" In the blink of an eye, Alex whacks me hard in the stomach.

"Ooof!" I gasp, abandoning my weapon so I can double over and clutch at my midsection.

"Easy, Alex!" Ben barks angrily from the sidelines.

Alex tosses her stick aside and falls next to me. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

"I . . . can't . . . breathe . . ." I cough.

Alex looks ready to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You're supposed to have amazing reflexes!"

I cough a few times and check for blood before pushing myself back up on unstable feet. "I'm okay."

The next time she attacks me, I flee.

"You're not supposed to run away," says Alex. "I'll go easy on you, I promise."

I swing the bamboo and catch her stick off to the side. She swivels it in a circle, disarming me. I commence the walk of shame to retrieve my bamboo from the grass a few feet away.

She tries to show me how to attack, but it turns out I'm much better at blocking. The next time I actually catch her off guard, for all of two seconds, before she whacks me in the stomach again. It takes forever for me to catch my breath, and when I do, I have no desire to continue this barbaric ritual. "I'm done."

Ben tries to hand me my bamboo pole. "We've only just started."

I grab the pole and throw it as far as I can in the opposite direction. "Let me get this straight. If I'm ever attacked by a crazy person, your plan is to teach me how to dodge the stick they're wielding? Why don't you teach me something useful? Like, I don't know, how to shoot a gun?"

"You don't know how to shoot a gun?" Alex asks in amazement.

I turn sharply on my heal and start walking away from them both, back to the Barracks.

"Where are you going?" Ben calls.

I run into Todd on the way home. "How's the sword fighting going? Lose a limb yet?"

"Sword fighting?" I scoff. "You mean stick fighting?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" he asks.

"I just got the wind knocked out of me in a bamboo pole fight. The edges weren't even sharp, so I don't know what you're talking about."

Todd stops walking in order to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Sweetling, why on earth would they start you off with an actual sword? The sticks are the safest way to engage in practice combat."

_Why didn't Ben just say that? I want to learn how to swordfight! Then again, why the hell am I learning how to swordfight when everyone in this show uses guns? What good is a sword going to be?_

I'm debating whether or not to turn around and go back to the clearing when I pick up the faint shouts of an angry man. I follow the sound of his voice and stumble upon a crowd gathered around the cafeteria. Goodwin is at the front of the group. He holds up a bloody hand and calls for justice. In his other hand he's aiming a rife at something.

Ben, looking irritated, has caught up to me. "Miss Collins, we are running out of time. I must insist that you come back to the—" He catches sight of the mob and asks, "What's going on?" All of a sudden he's hurrying away. "Oh, you foolish wolf," he mumbles under his breath.

"What happened?" I ask.

"He broke the sacred rule."

I hurry to keep up with him, panic rising up my throat. "What is the sacred rule?" Now that we're closer, I can see the wolf in question. Goodwin has him tied to the railing of the cafeteria porch. Goodwin's rife is aimed at a pack of angry wolves as they shout obesities and bare their sharp canines.

"He bit someone," Ben answers quietly. "None of the animals are allowed to bite us. It is the agreement we made that allowed them to stay here under our protection."

I watch the guilty wolf hunker down to the ground. I can see the terror in his eyes from way here. "What will happen to him?" I ask.

"The punishment is death," Ben answers briskly, stopping to glance in my direction.

Everyone—animal and human alike—are yelling and screaming at once. One of the wolves lunges forward, and Goodwin's rifle goes off, only barely missing the wolf. I hear the tiny whining of a pup, and from his screams I gather that he is the pup of the wolf on trial.

"Stop!" I scream at the top of my lungs, stepping forward. I'm so panicked I don't know what I'm doing. I might have had something to say, but now that everyone has turned to look at me, I can't remember what it was.

Luckily, Ben saves me. "Everyone, back up! Cora, would you come here, please?" I follow him over to where the wolf is tied up. "Would you mind asking him if he was, in fact, the one who bit Goodwin?"

"What happens if he is?"

"Just ask, please."

"Excuse me," I address the wolf, "did you bite this man's hand?"

The wolf looks up at me with fear and remorse and something else . . . anger? I can't quite tell. "Yes," he answers reluctantly.

"He says yes," I admit, just as reluctantly.

The wolves begin growling again, low and dangerous.

Ben nods, his lips set in a frown. "Tell him we are thankful for his honesty, but we cannot allow this to happen without consequence. Those were our terms."

It takes me a second to realize that Ben is holding out a handgun for me to take. I quickly back away, waving my hands. "I'm not going to do it."

"As future leader, it will be your responsibility to carry out—"

"I never wanted to be leader!" I interrupt. "You can't force me to take the position! I won't do it!"

_If I couldn't handle breaking the news to Pumba about the death of a pig I never met, how am I supposed to kill a father in front of his wife and child and friends?_

"Mercy, my lady," the wolf begs. "Please, at least hear my case."

"Tell me," I say eagerly—anything to stall this disgusting display.

"I only broke the oath because he broke his," the wolf informs me. "I caught the human you call Goodwin mistreating my pup."

"Mistreating," I say, slowly filling with fury. "How?"

"My pup was caught chewing one of Goodwin's shoes—and I know he shouldn't have, my lady, and I assure you I'll give him a stern talking to later—but then he shocked my pup with his lightning gun."

"Lightning gun . . ." I look out in the crowd until I find Goodwin, who at least has the decency to look ashamed. "You tasered a puppy? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"It doesn't matter!" Goodwin interjects. "Look at my hand! He broke his oath."

"They are not supposed to harm you, and in return you are not supposed to harm them." The longer I stare at Goodwin's stupid face, the more I wish I had that bamboo pole. I'd get some training done on his face for sure. "I haven't been here for more than a few days and even I know that."

Goodwin points at the wolf with his bloodied hand. "How do you know that thing isn't lying?"

I yell back, "How do I know _you're_ not?" I turn to Ben and whisper, "What do we do with them?"

"I will leave that up to you."

"Were there any witnesses?" I ask the crowd.

"Me," replies a tiny voice. A small little wolf pup comes limping towards me, guarded closely by a female.

"What happened to your leg?" I ask the pup.

"He's still recovering from the shock," the female wolf answers for him.

"Who are you?" I ask her.

"His mother, my lady," she answers. I can't help but think that the wolves might just be the most polite animal species on this island.

"You can't use them as witnesses!" Goodwin complains. "They're related to the one who bit me!"

"Anyone else?" I ask the crowd. "Anyone at all?" Nobody so much as coughs.

"I demand a trial."

I glare at Goodwin. "How do you expect to have a trial when you've just rejected the only two witnesses in the case?"

"But he confessed!"

"And from what he's told me, it sounds like you deserved to get bit."

"What is your decision?" Ben asks.

I stare at the hunkering wolf, I look at the limping pup and his mother, I glance at the crowd of humans waiting on bated breath for my decision, and I wish I wasn't the one in charge of giving a verdict. "Ben, I don't think I should be doing this. You're the leader."

"And as leader I'm giving this case to you."

"Ben," I persist, "I really don't think I—"

"I need an answer, Cora."

There isn't nearly enough evidence to convict either side. Goodwin was bitten—that much is unmistakable—but the reason why he was bitten has become a game of whose testimony I believe more. I know it's selfish, but a part of me wants to believe the wolf strictly out of spite for Goodwin and all the pain he caused his wife.

I take a deep breath. "To me it seems that both parties are—" I clear my throat and start over. "It seems both parties are equally to blame."

I can just faintly hear Goodwin scowl, "You can't be serious."

"I guess what needs to be said is that . . . that if a crime is committed, then it needs to be reported instead of taking measures into your own hands." I glance at Ben to see if what I'm saying is satisfactory, but his expressionless face is absolutely no help.

"Have you made your decision?" asks Ben.

"I don't know. I . . . I guess we just let everyone go?"

"Untie him," Ben orders, pointing at the wolf.

Goodwin disappears into the now silent crowd. The wolves rejoice, but I'm not entirely sure the humans are on my side. Juliet sure doesn't seem like she wants to become BFF's, and neither does Harper.

The big grey wolf turns to me and lowers his head in what looks like a bow. "I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing," I say, appalled and embarrassed.

"I am yours to command, my lady. Till my dying day." The wolf suddenly twists around and barks to the other wolves, "Bow to your Queen!"

I can feel color flood my cheeks. "No, no, that's really not necessary . . ."

But the entire pack of wolves have already hunkered down and offered me their necks—the official sign that I have absolute authority.

"Okay, Mr. . . I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Eddard, my lady."

I can't help but sigh. "Of _course _it is. Okay, Eddard. I want to make something very clear. I don't own you. I don't own anyone. We can be friends, but you're not . . . what was it you said? Mine to command?"

This seems to trouble him. "But, my lady—"

"Those are my rules," I interrupt.

"I shall not forget your kindness," says Eddard before rejoining his pack.

"That was handled gracefully," Ben praises.

"Please don't make me do something like that again," I beg while I watch the little pup bound over to his father and gnaw on his legs.

My stomach sinks when I remember about Pumba.

* * *

"I want you to leave them alone," I say, taking another sip of tea.

"Of course."

"Ben," I warn. "I'm serious. I want them left alone."

"Done," he says sharply.

Even though I can't be with them, I've figured out how to help the people back at the beach. I've made Ben promise not to send scouts out anymore, and to leave all of the survivors alone. No kidnapped Walt means no crazy Michael means no dead Libby. There. One life saved!

"More tea?" Ben asks.

"No more for me," says Alex. "I'm really starting to get sick of tea, dad."

I take a sip and accept a refill. "You don't always drink this much tea?"

"Nope. My dad's been on a kick ever since we found out you were here."

"Alex," Ben warns, shooting her a look.

"It helps curb our appetite," she continues happily. "It's great for weight loss."

As if Alex isn't stick skinny already. "Why would _you_ want to—" My stomach plummets. _No. They don't drink tea for their benefit. They drink it for mine._ I stare Ben down with a look of silent mortification. "Are you trying to make me lose weight?"

He chokes a little on his tea and has to put his cup down on the coffee table so he can wipe his mouth with a napkin. "Of course not," he says, appalled, but he paused too long before answering.

It's as if time stands still. Every ugly memory resurfaces; crawling up from the dark places I shoved them in long ago.

_I'm 6, watching my father torture my mother over her post-baby weight after my sisters were born. _

_I'm 10, and my drunken father has just thrown away my birthday cake in front of all of my embarrassed friends because he says I don't need to get any fatter than I already am._

_I'm 13, coming home from school everyday, eating anything and everything my mother puts in front of me because it feels good to eat and I want her to love me because I love her and she loves cooking._

_I'm 16, and I can't buy the same matching skirt that all my friends bought because the store didn't have my size._

_ I'm 18, newly free from my father's poison, and I'm sitting in my dorm room eating far past the moment my stomach alerts me I'm full—stuffing my face with cookies and pastries and pastas and burgers and fries and chips and candy and whatever else I can get my hands on to help dull the pain of homesickness. _

_I'm 19, struggling to force myself to the school gym. Struggling to rid myself of the shame my father has caused me. Struggling to feel normal like every young woman should. _

_I'm 20, unhappy despite the impressive progress I've made. Nothing will ever impress me at this point. I'm too far gone. No amount of weight loss will ever be enough._

_I thought leaving the house would free me, but I'm not even in the same dimension as my father, and I'm still not free from him._

I can't breathe.

I stumble to the front door as my training kicks in. It's happening. Complete and total system failure. I need to retreat. Find somewhere small and dark and secluded. Somewhere where nobody can look at me. Somewhere safe.

"Miss Collins?" I hear Ben protest as I stagger out onto the grass. "Would you let me explain?"

As if I am possessed, I whirl around and slap him hard across the face, reveling in the sting it brings to my hand. "How dare you," I say slowly, far beyond angry. "Who the hell do you think you are? Why the hell would you do something like that?"

"_Because you told me to_!" Ben shouts, his voice wavering. "You instructed me to! I'm only following your orders!"

"I never said—" But maybe I did. Maybe I said it years ago, and I just don't know it yet.

"I admit that this was not handled with the delicacy in which I had originally planned," he says quickly, bringing tentative fingers up against the inflamed handprint I left on his cheek. "That was a mistake on my part. For that you have my humblest apologies."

I force myself to look him in the eye, and I ask, "Did I really instruct you to help me lose weight?"

"You did," he answers with a nod.

"You swear it?"

"I have a list," he blurts out, cutting himself off, but not soon enough.

"What list?" I question. "Ben, look at me." He tries to backpedal, and for some reason, out of absolutely nowhere, for probably the first time in my entire life, I feel powerful. "Look. At. Me." He's taller than me by almost a foot, and yet for some reason I feel like I'm looking down on him. I point a finger up at his face and he flinches. "You are going to stop keeping secrets from me. You are going to tell me what happened back when you were a child. When this was Dharma property."

"Jacob said I couldn't tell you about—"

"If you say his name _one more time_—"

"Jacob said I couldn't _tell_ you about what happened," he repeats loudly. "So, I won't. I'll show you, instead."


	10. Everybody Loves Nostalgia

The sad little house looks haunted. I'm guessing at one point it was once the pristine matching yellow of all the other houses, but nobody has touched up the paint in years. Alex wasn't kidding about no one being allowed inside since the 70's.

The front porch is covered in dust and leaves and old books. I take one step up the stairs, and the wood creaks like an angry bullfrog. I turn around and find Ben standing about ten feet away. "Are you coming in with me?"

He squints up at the house. "I'd really rather not."

I'm suddenly terrified about what I'm about to see. "I'm not going to find my corpse in here, right? Because I don't think I can handle that right now."

"No," he answers quietly. "You died . . . elsewhere."

_How reassuring. _I gather my courage and push open the front door.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. It smells like an ancient musty basement if it had been inhabited by wet dogs. Dust and animal fur swirls up and around like a snowstorm. I cough it out of my lungs.

I try to turn on the lights, but the switch does nothing. The layout of the house looks identical to Ben's, although it's hard to tell in the darkness.

The sofa in the living room has been slashed by what looks like claws, and the stuffing is pouring out like fluffy white blood. My bookshelves have been knocked over, books strewn all over the floor. I reach down to pick one up. Its entitled _Watership Down._

The kitchen is an absolute mess. All of the cupboards are open and the contents inside have been flung about everywhere. Piles of flour and cereal litter the walkway and crunch under my foot.

The hallway is covered in shards of broken glass from picture frames that were knocked off the wall. The only surviving picture still hanging up is of me and a group of young children posing under a tree. I squint in the darkness and can just barely make out that I'm wearing one of those ridiculously ugly Dharma uniforms. But even under the uniform I can tell that I have, in fact, lost weight, and I look happy. I squint harder and see a little apple symbol stitched onto the upper front pocket. Apple. Apple? _Teacher. _

I was a teacher.

I'm _going _to be a teacher.

The spare bedroom is covered in bunched blankets, like little makeshift burrows. I'm guessing this is where my animals slept. In fact, I'm willing to bet my life on it, considering there's a skeleton of a small animal laying on one of the piles. I pull the door shut.

My bedroom is the cleanest in the house. Nothing has been trashed or knocked over. The only troubling thing in the entire room is a message that looks like it was written in blood.

Painted across the wall over my bed in a crusty dark rust color, are the words: DO NOT TRUST YOURSELF

_What does that mean? Did I write that? And if I didn't, who did? Does it mean I shouldn't trust myself now, or that I shouldn't trust my future self?_

I make my way around the bedroom, looking through the closet, under the bed, and in each and every drawer. In the closet I find an array of interesting clothing—long black evening gowns, short colorful jumpers, and an eccentric pair of printed pants. Under the bed I find a shoebox filled with odd little trinkets. There's a small wooden figurine of a polar bear, like the one Jacob was carving, a bunny made of felt, a stick of charcoal, and a red tube of what looks like dried up face paint. In the drawer I find random photographs of the island and snippets of paper with half-thoughts on them like: EVERYTHING CHANGES and GIVE BOSCO HIS TREATS

In the bottom drawer, hidden under a piece of paper that reads: YOU DON'T HAVE A NAME is a fluffy white cape. I pull out the furry cloak but immediately drop it when it unfurls. The cloak is made of animal fur. _I went insane, skinned something, and wore its body as a cape._

This is seriously creepy, and I want to go home.

As I'm leaving my room, something catches my eye. Carved into the wall over the doorway, in perfectly elegant script, are the elvish words: _Befriend the Birds_

Elvish. Of course it's in elvish. A little known fact that I've kept from my friends is that I had nothing better to do growing up than learn Sindarin. My summers were full of loneliness and Tolkien. What can I say?

But if I took the time to carve this over my door, it must mean this is something I wanted myself to see in the here and now. Something important enough to look at every night when I go to sleep and every morning when I wake up.

Looks like I have a lot of befriending to do.

* * *

Ben is sitting on the bottom of the porch steps when I stumble out of the house. For a second I think he's talking to himself, but then I notice Todd sitting at attention in front of him. The two both turn their attention to me and fall silent.

"No, please," I say, motioning towards them, "don't let me interrupt. Continue."

"Did you find anything of interest?" Ben asks.

_Did I find anything of interest? He's kidding, right? _"I'm going to sleep. It's been a long day, and I've reached my max capacity for weirdness." I stomp down the stairs and head back towards Ben's house on autopilot. I'm so tired my eyes can barely stay open. Todd is at my side. "What were you two talking about just now?" I ask him.

"We were just—" Ben tries to answer.

"I didn't ask you," I interrupt.

Todd sounds amused. "My, my. Someone is in a foul mood today."

"Todd, I just looked into my future and saw blood, dead animals, and mental instability, so forgive me if I seem testy. Now, are you going to answer my question, or should I bid you goodnight?"

"Gracious me, my sweet little Cora has turned sour."

"What is he saying?" Ben asks.

"Humans," Todd sighs. "Always so paranoid. Cora, you can tell your sweetling that I'm not going to renege on my duties."

I just want to sleep. I'm so tired and cranky that I can't even enjoy Todd's playful banter. "Are you two best friends for life, or something? I'm so sick of secrets I could vomit. Would somebody please just be honest for once? I might actually be of use if you'd tell me what's going on."

"I know I joke a lot about Benjamin's intentions, but on a serious note I can say with absolute certainty that you can trust him. He might possibly be the only human on this island you can truly trust. And, of course, there's me." Todd trots in front of me and spins around, stopping abruptly. "Remember, Cora, we're on your side. Of that much, at least, I do not jest." And with that he scampers off into the night.

I start to feel bad halfway home. "I'm sorry I slapped you," I apologize.

"I suppose I deserved it. I'm not doing a very good job of carrying out your orders."

I can't help but smile. "If you were trying to get me to lose weight, why were you offering me cookies?"

"Like I said, I'm not doing a very good job of carrying out your orders."

"Can you promise me something?" I ask seriously. "I obviously made you swear an oath of silence, so I'm going to go ahead and trust my future self. I won't bug you anymore about my future, but only if you promise me one thing."

"Alright."

"Do not lie to me," I say. "You can lie and manipulate and do whatever it is you do to everyone on this stupid island, but you will not lie to me. Understand?"

Ben stares me down with an inquisitive look in his eyes, then he gives the slightest of nods.

I don't even know if I believe him, but I guess it was worth a shot.

* * *

I finish changing the sheets on the couch and call, "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"Could you please take that painting of me down? It makes me uncomfortable, and it's difficult to fall asleep with my face staring back at me in the dark."

Ben unhooks the painting from the wall and tucks it away behind a bookshelf out of sight. I can still see the faint handprint I left on his cheek, and I fill with so much more than shame. He has been nothing but kind to me, and in return I've been violent and rude, judging his actions before knowing why he made them. I let my emotions take control of my better judgment, and I hurt him in the process.

I don't enjoy hurting people. In fact, I can't really think of anything I enjoy less. It makes me feel like scum to know I've inflicted pain—be it physical or emotional—upon another human being. That was how my father operated, and I want nothing to do with that man.

What affects me the most was the way Ben responded to my outburst. We both come from abusive households, and now that my fury has subsided, I realize that when I slapped him, he reacted the way I would have if I had been slapped. He immediately shrunk away from me, wanting so badly to voice an angry opinion but not being able to for one reason or another. Everything about his demeanor regressed into that of a chastised child, and it was my fault.

Thinking about my recent behavior brings a lump to my throat. I realize in horror that I am seconds away from crying.

"Is there anything else you need?"

I startle at his sudden question and blink rapidly in a losing fight to stop my overemotional response. "No," I say, my voice cracking. I pray he doesn't notice, but it's a worthless prayer. Ben notices everything.

Ben takes a seat beside me on the couch. "Why are you upset?"

I could tell him the truth. I could explain how we're the same. I could let him know all about my upbringing and why I am the way that I am, and why it's useless to ask me questions like "why are you upset?" because it's never one thing. It's a million things.

"I'm sorry I slapped you," I whisper, because I no longer trust myself to speak.

"You already apologized, and I've already forgiven you." To his credit, he doesn't try to comfort me by touching me, and for that I am thankful. "Although, I must admit, I was unprepared for such a powerful backhand."

I snort, and the painful lump in my throat finally dissolves into laughter.

"Do you need anything else?" he asks, and the kindness in his voice throws me off. I'm not used to people being nice to me even when they don't have a reason to hate me. People usually brush me off or use me as an easy bully target, so when people are nice to me, I can't help but be suspicious, which usually ends in me being perceived as a bitch.

"I'm fine, thank you."

Ben nods and pushes up from the couch. "Then I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cora."

* * *

Pumba sleeps soundly at my side. He ate his dinner without hassle, but he still hasn't spoken a word. He sleeps peacefully while I obsess over the shadows.

The feeling of dread has returned. Darkness seeps into the house and consumes everything in its wake. My skin absorbs it. My lungs breathe it in. It is everywhere and I cannot escape it. It's crushing me, and I can't handle it. I can't handle it_. I can't handle it!_ I squeeze my eyes shut tight and imagine myself back home, in my own room.

I open my eyes and the figure standing over me slowly comes into focus.

It's my father.

"There you are," he says, grinning.


	11. Romantic Picnics and Other Disasters

I don't stop screaming for anything. Not when all the lights go on, or when I see Alex's worried face, or when someone starts shaking me.

"_Get away!" _I scream, lashing out and striking someone with the palm of my hand.

Pumba has fled the room in fear. I can just barely see him poking his head out from the hallway. I sit on the floor and try to steady my breathing.

_There's nothing there._

And there isn't. As soon as someone turned on the lights, my father disappeared like a puff of smoke.

Wait.

I rub at my temples. "That no-named son of a—!"

"Miss Collins, what are you talking about?"

I want to explain that everyone can go back to sleep because I realize my hauntings have been nothing more than the demented impersonations of the smoke monster. Now I truly understand why Richard was so angry and suspicions of me when I first arrived here. It's the worst feeling in the world to wrongfully think you're seeing someone who by all rights shouldn't be there.

But when I try and explain, whatever dam I had so carefully constructed to save myself from tears has broken at last. I haven't felt this many emotions since . . . I have no idea when! I don't like it.

I cover my face with my hands, but it doesn't really help. I struggle to fight off the bizarre and overpowering mixture of uncontrollable laughter and equally uncontrollable tears.

Pumba—bless him—hurries over to comfort me. His little hooves click on the wood floor as he scurries over and pushes his way into my lap. I hold him close.

Alex hands me a tissue.

"Thank you." My nose is clogged, and it takes three tissues before I can breathe normally again. "You guys can go back to sleep," I say, embarrassed. "I'm sorry I woke you. Bad dream."

Alex yawns. "You sure?"

"Go back to sleep, Alex," Ben tells her. Then he offers to make tea.

"Please, no more tea," I beg.

Pumba rubs his snout against my arm to console me, which only makes me sadder. "Is the fence on?" I ask.

Ben furrows his brow in confusion. "Of course."

"Can the . . . the monster come through the fence?"

"Cora, the fence's sole purpose is to keep that from happening." Ben pauses. "Why are you asking this?"

"Nevermind." I shake my head. Maybe I really am just going insane. "Nevermind."

* * *

"Please, have a seat."

Of all the things I could be wasting my time doing, this is definitely last on my list. I'm sleep deprived, slightly paranoid, and I wasn't allowed to bring Pumba with me to this little _session_.

"My name is Harper, as I'm sure you know by now." She takes a seat on an uncomfortable looking wooden chair and motions for me to sit. "My husband is the man who was bit by that wolf."

"Yeah," I answer and plop down on the sofa across from her. Thankfully it's comfortable. Usually the seating in medical facilities are either rock hard or so plush you get swallowed alive by the fluff.

"This session will go smoothest if you are honest with me. Just relax, and don't overthink anything. Just tell me whatever comes to mind. Now, I understand you've been suffering from night terrors."

I'm trying so very hard not to stare at her mole. "No."

"Then what would you call the incident from last night?"

_It wasn't a night terror because I wasn't asleep. _"I don't want to talk about that."

"What would you like to talk about?" she asks, smiling. Only, it's not really a smile. I can spot a fake smile faster than a jackrabbit on a date. My mother was a master.

My throat closes up at the memory of my mother. I feel nothing but pity for Harper, even though I don't know her. It's irrational, but I can't control it. "I've been . . . feeling different lately."

She clicks her pen and begins writing. "Tell me what you're experiencing."

I lean back into the plush sofa. "I don't know. I just feel . . . overwhelmed, I guess. Like I can't deal with any amount of emotion, no matter how small. It's like my body is in overdrive or something. I'm in a constant battle with myself to not snap at people and say rude things. That's never happened before. Sure, I used to say rude comments all the time in my head—who doesn't?—but I can't keep thoughts in my head anymore. They just blurt out before I can stop them. And then when I'm not consumed with hatred, I'm fighting not to burst into tears."

"Don't worry," Harper assures me, scribbling something down. "These things are common in people recovering from depression."

"I'm not depressed."

"I said _recovering_ from depression."

"I've never had depression."

Harper flips through the papers on her clipboard. "I've heard that you've been having mood swings, and your overall disposition has been . . . shall I say . . . hauteur."

"What?" I sit up straighter and frown. "Who said I'm arrogant? I'm not arrogant! Was it Todd?" Then I feel stupid because I'm the only one who can understand him, so how would it have been Todd?

Harper raises an eyebrow. "Would you like to talk about Todd?"

"Not particularly."

"How about any of the other animals?" she questions. "I'm sure it's been a difficult adjustment for you."

I snort.

"I can't help but notice you make animal friends much quicker than human ones. Why do you think that is?"

For some reason all I can think about is poor dead Nemo. "Humans have a way of disappointing you."

"Has someone disappointed you recently?"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Would you like to talk about . . ." she pauses to peek at me from over the clipboard, "food?"

We've reached the danger zone. "No."

"Can you tell me what makes you think you weren't suffering from depression?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

"It's alright, Cora." Harper places the clipboard down across her lap. "It will help you to talk about what's going on."

My siblings all have different ways of coping with the pain. My mother pretends to be happy. I eat until I can't physically fit anymore food in my stomach. My younger twin sisters, Capri and Cassandra, don't eat at all. My little brother, Casper, throws himself in his music. He's hardly at home anymore because his friends started a rock band in their garage. His way of dealing with our home life is to never be at home. Smart kid.

"What makes you think that I was depressed?" I retort.

"Oftentimes overeating becomes a problem. You've been struggling with this for some time, haven't you?"

"I . . . yes," I admit reluctantly.

"Can you tell me what makes you want to eat? What triggers it? Are you sad or angry or bored?"

I shrug. "I just like eating. There isn't really a reason."

"There's always a reason." When I refuse to continue, she flips to a new piece of paper. "Let's talk about Sawyer."

The abrupt shift catches me off-guard, and I sit up straighter. "What about Sawyer?"

Harper glances at me and then pauses to write something down. "How would you describe your relationship?"

"Um . . . Nonexistent, at the moment. I angered him."

Her pen scribbles away. "He seems to like you. Any thoughts as to why?"

"Not a clue in the world," I answer. "But if you know something, please, by all means, tell me. I'd love to hear it."

"You seem self deprecating," Harper says, sounding curious. "How would you describe yourself?"

"At the moment? Annoyed. Not at you," I add quickly. "Just at this whole situation." I'm still not entirely sure I believe this is really happening. I haven't completely ruled out psych ward.

"Situation?"

I wave my hands. "Being stuck on an island with a bunch of people I've never met who seem to know more about me than I know about them . . . it's annoying. And it really doesn't help when people refuse to answer my questions when it's clear they know the answer."

"Does this frustrate you?"

"You're kidding, right? How could it _not_ frustrate me? I feel like an ignorant child wandering behind people who expect me to know what I'm doing when I have no idea what's going on and nobody seems inclined to explain things!"

"So, you're afraid of pressure? Of being trapped in a leadership position?"

"I'm afraid of people thinking I'm stupid," I answer honestly, and I instantly wish I hadn't.

"Nobody thinks you're stupid, Cora." I'd believe her if she didn't sound so bored. "Do you not desire to become our leader?"

The look she's giving me makes me stop myself before I can answer. Maybe this is some kind of test. Maybe if I answer wrong, they will throw me out beyond the fence and leave me to starve. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. "Ben seems to think I can do it."

She flips to a new piece of paper. "What do you think about Ben?"

_Careful, Cora. You're a fool if you think Harper is going to keep her doctor/patient confidentiality. _"He's nice." Guilt from last night washes over me all over again, and I cringe. "Nicer than I've been. He's one of the people I've been snapping at lately. Actually, he's pretty much the only person I've been short with lately. Well, him and Juliet."

Harper's pen freezes midsentence. I watch her eyelids flutter before she looks up. "What has Juliet done to cause you grief?"

"Exist, mostly." My eyes widen in shock of my own rudeness. "Wow. I'm sorry. Can you please not mention I said that?"

A smile breaks out on her lips. A real smile.

"I'm on your side, you know," I tell her.

This throws Harper off. "Pardon?"

"I know about . . . you know, the affair."

Harper sits motionless, not even blinking. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You asked." I cross my arms and lean back into the sofa. "That's why I don't like her, if we're being honest. You said this would go smoothly if I'm honest, right?"

She begins flipping through papers at random, flustered. "Alright, so how about we talk about—"

"No, I think I'd rather talk about this."

"This session is for you, Cora," she says bluntly. "It has nothing to do with me."

"But that's just it. That's what I want to talk about." I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. "We can bond over our injustices!"

"And what injustices would that be?"

"We've both been disappointed by people we love. People we don't want to love, but love just the same. Take you, for example. I'm sure you think this affair is your own fault, right? I mean, if Goodwin was willing to marry you in the first place, obviously that means you were the one who screwed it up beyond repair if he's the one leaving, right?" _What in the world is going on? Where is this word vomit coming from? _"He was the one who left your relationship, correct?"

"That is enough," she whispers sharply.

"My whole life I've blamed myself for things that I had no power over. _If only I would have done this or that then my father would have loved me_. But that's not true. It took me a very long time to realize that _I_ wasn't the problem." She's giving me a death glare, but I just smile back. "If you can stop blaming yourself for the actions of your husband, maybe it will help me to stop blaming myself for the actions of my father."

Harper stares at her pad of paper for what seems like eternity. "Would you like to talk about your father?"

It's not that we were forbidden from speaking about our life to others, per say. It's just I was always too embarrassed and ashamed to tell my friends what I was going through. They all had wonderful parents who loved them and spoiled them rotten. They would never understand what it was like to be me. I was in dire need of friends, and there was no way I was going to scare off any potentials with horror stories of my childhood. So I learned to keep it bottled up inside. I learned the art of repressing memories and turning emotionally numb as a defense mechanism. I learned how to shield myself from the world.

Now that I have the opportunity to spill my guts to someone who is paying close enough attention to take notes on everything I say, I can't stop myself. A weight seems to lift off my shoulders as I recount things I had forgotten even happened to me.

I leave the session feeling free and more awake than I have in years.

* * *

"Do you attend sessions?" I ask happily as I follow behind Ben. "You should. It works wonders."

"We all do, from time to time." Ben gives me an amused smile. "I'm glad she could help you."

We're heading back to the clearing again to train. No doubt so I can earn more bruises. "Who knew talking could make you feel better? Its just words." I throw my head back and feel the warm sun on my skin.

"Do you think I can poop on her face?" somebody asks.

My eyes shoot open. "Whoever asked that, please don't! I really wouldn't appreciate it!"

The bird in question flies closer. "Ooo! A talking human! Hey! Hey Phil, come look at this!"

"Yes," I say flatly. "We've gone over this. I can understand you."

A tiny little multicolored bird comes gliding down from out of the trees. "Incoming!" he yells. I gently catch him before he crashes into me.

"Phil, don't _touch _it!" a female bird shrieks. "You'll get sick!"

"I flew!" the little bird chirps proudly from between my fingers. "Did you see me, mom?"

"Get away from my baby!" Little needle claws slash at my arms as she flies sporadically around me.

"Hey, stop it!" I yell. "Here's your kid! Sorry! Stop it, that hurts!" I give the little baby a toss, and he flaps his way to the ground.

"Fly, Phil!" she chirps. "Fly!"

And he's honestly giving it everything he's got. But try as he may, he can't seem to get airborne. He just flops about like a sad little Magikarp.

I walk over to help him, and his mother swoops down and pecks at my head. My hand reaches up instinctively to swat her away. "I'm trying to help him, you crazy bird!" I'm forced to make a hasty escape. "A little gratitude would be nice."

"What was that about?" Ben asks.

I rub at my head. "Do you know why I would write a note to myself saying 'Befriend the Birds'? Because they all seem pretty dense to me. Was I good friends with them way back when?"

"You were friends with one in particular, but other than him, no. And watch where you step, Miss Collins. Try to tread lightly."

"One in particular? Who?"

"I believe you called him Hurley Bird. But I haven't seen him since I was a child."

We've made it to the clearing at last. I rip off my backpack and have a seat in the cool grass.

Ben places his worn leather satchel next to me and begins sorting through the contents of his own backpack. A curious white rabbit peeks its head out from under the satchel flap. "Oh, it's you again," he says with a twitch of his pink nose. "Hello. When do we eat?"

"Eat?"

One of the items Ben has removed from his backpack is a picnic blanket, which he spreads out over the ground, followed by an assortment of foods.

"Wait," I ask, "I thought we were training with those bamboo poles?"

"I figured we could take a day off from that," he answers nonchalantly. "Let you recover from your injuries."

"Yay, yay, yay!" the rabbit cries happily, springing out of the satchel. He hops over to a little pile of vegetables Ben set out for him and starts shoveling them into his mouth.

"Carrot?" Ben holds one out to me in offering.

I look around and slowly begin to panic. _Is this a date?_ "You know, if you wanted to invite me to a picnic, you could have just asked."

"Oh, we're still training." Ben sets aside a thin leather case I hadn't noticed he'd brought, and pulls out a bow and a quiver of arrows.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Ben looks up. "What?"

I motion towards the weapon. "What is that supposed to do?"

"It does the job when the time arises."

"Yeah, so does a gun," I argue. "Only faster."

"You once told me you use a bow because guns scare the animals and alert others of where you're hiding." He sets the bow aside and hands me a bowl. There are containers of strawberries, mango slices, and papayas, but the majority of containers are filled with vegetables. "Have whatever you'd like. I made sure to bring a variety."

"I thought you were supposed to be helping me lose weight. I don't think a buffet is the best way to do that."

"You can eat as much as you want," he replies, taking a bite of carrot. "You just have to be careful what it is you're eating. Nothing here is harmful snacking."

I begin crunching my way through some cucumber slices. Tastes like water. Oh joy. "When did you become vegetarian?"

He squints, thinking. "I believe I was ten. It was a little while after we first met."

"Hold that thought. Excuse me! Sir?" A bird pecking the ground nearby hops around to look at me. "Hello!" I wave. "How is your day going?" He flies away without response. "There's no reason to be so rude!" I huff.

Ben munches on a carrot and regards me with a curious expression. "Why the sudden interest in birds?"

"I found a message in my old house. It told me to befriend them," I scoff. "As to why, I have no idea. They seem pretty useless."

"I'm afraid I'm of no real help in that regard. That's a message you never explained to me." He leans back on the blanket, thinking. "I wish I knew where Hurley Bird was. He could probably answer your questions. If he's even alive."

The rabbit stops eating and jerks his head. "You two aren't talking about that big ugly thing that tried to eat me a week ago, are you?" His ears stick straight up. "He's not here, is he? _Is he?_" Quick as a wink, he's tumbled back into the satchel, abandoning the rest of his uneaten food.

I relax back against the blanket and watch the clouds roll by, wondering what the other survivors are doing right now. What changes have occurred because of my meddling?

I actually kind of miss them, even though I wasn't on the beach for very long. I especially miss Claire. She was so effortlessly kind to me that it put me at ease for the first time in forever. There are so many people I haven't got to meet yet. I wonder if I ever will at this point.

Jack was living here, in Othersville, at one point during the show. I remember that much. They kept him specifically for some reason. What was it again? They made a deal with Michael in exchange for Walt, and then they kept Sawyer and Kate as leverage because— "_OH MY GOD, YOUR SPINE!_" I scream, horrified.

"What?" Ben twists around. "Is there something on me?"

"Your spine!" I flail my arms, as if this can get the right words out. "Your . . . your cancer, no tumor . . . _your spine!_"

He's paused with a carrot halfway to his slightly parted lips. There's a moment of silence, and then Ben gives a brief laugh. "What are you talking about?"

He should know about it by now. He had it x-rayed before the plane crash! I remember! "You have a tumor on your spine."

"No," he refutes me as if I had just declared the moon an honorary planet. "That's quite impossible."

"How is that impossible?"

"You cannot get cancer here," he declares with confidence.

_Think, Cora. Think. Okay, it wasn't cancer, exactly. It was a tumor. A tumor caused by . . . by Sayid's bullet! That's right!_

_But I can't ask about that, because he doesn't remember being shot. Richard said so when Sawyer brought him to the Others. He said his memory of the incident would be wiped clean._

_Ugh. I'm so confused._

"So you . . . _don't _have a tumor on your spine?"

"Not that I'm aware of, no."

"I . . . uh . . . I would double check that if I were you."

Ben gives me a kind smile and shakes his head. "Like I said, that is quite impossible. What makes you think—"

"Could you at least make sure?" I ask. "Please?"

He regards me with curious blue eyes. "I'll schedule an x-ray first thing when we return home."

After we've eaten a good portion of all the food, I still feel hungry, but I keep it to myself. Ben tacks a target to a nearby tree and shows me the proper way to hold the bow. My arrow keeps sliding off and dropping to the ground, so he reaches around to show me how to hold it up to aim.

His arms are completely around me. A memory triggers. _The_ memory. The one that nobody in our family talks about because it could land both my parents in jail. The biggest reason why I'm such a psychotic mess.

My heart is pounding hard and sporadic. Blood screams in my ears. I violently shrug him off. "Don't touch me," I blurt out defensively, dropping everything in my panic.

I've surprised him. He takes a hasty step back with his hands out in front of him. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to show you."

The initial panic is wearing off. _Pack it up, lock it tight. Forget. Forget. _I clear my mind, retrieve the bow and arrow, and hold it out for him. "Okay then. Show me."

Ben carefully takes the weapon without actually making contact with my hand. "Just pull it back, like this," he explains. "Keep your index finger here. Make sure that when you're about to release, you first—" he swings around, abruptly, the bowstring still pulled back tight against his chin.

I turn around to see what has caught his attention and barely contain an audible gasp of surprise.

Standing in the treeline, frowning deeply, is Charlie Pace. I'd be ecstatically excited to see him if he wasn't pointing a gun at me.

"Charlie?" I exclaim. "What are you . . . how did you . . . please don't point that at me."

"Don't play innocent. You know why we're here," he growls. I can faintly see now that Jack, Kate, John Locke, and Sayid are standing behind him, all armed as well. "Where are your people keeping Claire?"


	12. Conspiracy Theory

"Your name wasn't on the bloody manifest!" Charlie yells.

A nervous laugh escapes me. "There's a _really_ interesting explanation for that."

"And why would we listen to anything you have to say?" Sayid interjects.

"She trusted you!" Charlie yells. He's so deliriously angry that he can't even hold the gun steady.

"Charlie," I say, trying to reason. "I'm friends with Claire. The last thing I want is for something bad to happen to her."

Slowly, step by careful step, Ben moves to stand in front of me.

"Just drop your weapon," Kate says, sounding annoyed. "You're outnumbered."

I wonder what they would do if we were to surrender peacefully. The outcome may not be good, but I bet it would be a lot better than if Ben were to release an arrow. "Ben," I hiss, "I think you should listen to them."

Ignoring me, Ben shifts his aim away from Charlie and towards Kate. "Shoot me," he proclaims softly, "and I release my arrow into your friend's heart."

Here we stand, in the middle of a field, waiting to see who shoots first. Not exactly how I imagined I would die.

"We don't have Claire," I announce, looking to Ben for confirmation. "We don't have her . . . right?" I wait for an answer. "Ben?"

"It was a necessary precaution," he finally answers.

I bring my palm up to smack my forehead. "I don't believe this. One thing. I asked for _one thing_."

"She would have died otherwise," Ben argues. "Do you hear that, Charlie? I saved your woman and her unborn child."

I'm trying to remember why Claire was so important to the Others. _Ethan kidnapped her because . . . wasn't he injecting her with something? Keeping her hostage in a hospital and shooting her up with some pregnancy serum?_ _What was the serum for? Think . . . think . . . _

"Put the gun down, Charlie." This new voice confuses me. It belongs to a woman I don't recognize. I can't see her. Soon enough Jack, Kate, John Locke, Sayid, and Charlie have surrendered their weapons.

Uh. What?

A dark haired woman steps out from the trees carrying all of the surrendered weapons, corralling the group of survivors in front of her. I'm confused as to why five armed individuals would surrender their weapons to one woman with a gun.

Then I see the wolves.

Todd is suddenly at my feet. "Cora," he says, "would you kindly tell your beloved that he is officially in my debt?"

I don't know why I even bother to question things anymore. "Why am I not surprised you're in on this?"

"I told you." Todd takes a seat in front of me, curiously eyeing the survivors. "I make it my business to know everything that happens around here. You're welcome, by the way. I'm sure a two on five fight would have been a marvelous showdown. Especially since only one of you were armed—and with a bow and arrow, no less. How quaint."

Ben has finally relaxed his hold on the bow, and he nods to the woman. "Jane."

"Ben," she replies, nodding back.

Jane. The name sounds familiar. I think Todd mentioned her once, but I don't remember what he said. She's slender, all muscle, with long back hair tired back in a loose ponytail. The most striking feature on her face are her dark eyebrows set in two bold straight lines that make her look like she's stuck in a perpetual frown.

The wolves have surrounded the survivors. One of them emits a low warning growl and nips at Sayid.

Eddard breaks away from the pack and approaches me. "The fox told us of your plight," he says. "We came as soon as we could. And we brought the human, Jane, that looks after us."

"Thank you," I answer. "I appreciate your help." I turn to ask Ben what he plans on doing with the survivors, but he's already engaged in conversation with Jane.

"Handcuff them, and put them in the rec room," Ben orders.

"What?" I step over and interrupt. "No, you don't have to do that." Both Jane and Ben are looking at me like I'm insane.

I guess, looking at it from their perspective, it does sound insane. They just had guns pointed at us, and even I'm not entirely sure they wouldn't have fired. But the bias in me, the one that knows these characters backwards and forwards, is trying to convince Ben and Jane that these survivors are good people, deep down. They're just really frightened at the moment—and rightfully so!

I frown at Ben, who strangely enough doesn't look ashamed or remorseful. He looks like he's trying not to frown back. "You promised me you would leave them alone. You didn't. And now—" I wave towards the survivors with one arm, "—here they are, confused and scared and searching for their friend. That's not their fault. You didn't listen to me!"

"Are you implying that I should have let Claire die?" Ben asks flatly.

"I . . . I'm saying you should let me explain things to them before you go locking them away."

"Since when did _she _start calling the shots?" Jane eyes me up and down, clearly not impressed with what she sees.

"She doesn't," Ben snaps sharply enough for me to take a step back. "Not yet. _I_ am responsible for the safety of this community until Cora is fit to take my position. I'm sorry, Cora, but for the time being these people are going to be closely monitored."

"But—" I try to argue.

"Cora," Ben says, less aggressively than before, "those people just had guns aimed at us. At you. Whatever friendship you started on the beach . . . well, it looks like you're starting over from square one."

I watch as Jane and the wolves guide the survivors back towards the Barracks. I catch a glimpse of the hateful expressions directed towards me as they pass by.

Looks like Ben's right. It's back to square one.

* * *

Claire is being kept in the Barrack's hospital wing a few houses away from Ben's. This whole time she was right under my nose and nobody had the decency to tell me.

She's hooked up to a monitor that gives out rhythmic heartbeats and is lying down on a white hospital bed with her feet propped up and an overstuffed pillow wedged behind her neck. Ethan wanders around the hospital, writing labels on medicine bottles and jotting down notes on a clipboard.

Claire's face lights up when she sees me. "Cora? They took you too? What's going on?"

I explain why she was taken. Well, I explain it to the best of my abilities. It really angers me that _nobody_ told her what was going on. They just gave her shots and told her that they were "in her best interest". They didn't even mention that I was here!

Claire assures me that she has not been mistreated, which makes me feel a little bit better, but not much.

"Charlie's here," I tell her.

She perks up at this news, and I fangirl inside. "He is?"

"Would you like to see him?"

"Ah," Ethan interjects, "I'm afraid that's not going to happen anytime soon."

I spin around to frown at him. "Why not?"

"Claire cannot leave this facility until the baby is born. Too many health risks." He shrugs. "Sorry."

Claire squeezes my hand in agitation.

"I'll bring him here to visit," I offer.

"Good luck with that," Ethan comments under his breath.

I leave to find out where the survivors are being kept and run into Sawyer.

"Well, if it isn't Dr. Doolittle," he announces loudly. "Where are you running off to in such a hurry?"

I stop dead in my tracks. Apparently whatever fight we were having is over. "You didn't call me Doublemint! I thought you said no exchanges or refunds?"

He gives me one of his lazy, confidant smiles and saunters closer. "They're _my _nicknames and I can do what I want with them. Weren't you bothering me about giving you another nickname, anyway? You women are so fickle."

"Never mind that," I say, quickly remembering what I set out to accomplish. "Do you know where they are keeping the survivors? I think Ben said the rec room . . . do you know where that is?"

Sawyer's perky smile wipes clean away. "Survivors? They took more people from the beach?"

"Where have you been?" I ask. "I thought everyone knew!"

"Here comes Blondie," he says, nodding towards Juliet. "Let's ask her. Hey, Blondie! Just the girl we're looking for!"

"What is it now, Sawyer?" she grumbles. He must really have annoyed her recently. Juliet acts like he's the biggest nuisance she's ever dealt with.

"I want to talk to Charlie," I tell her.

"Who?"

"One of the people who were just captured."

"Alright," she answers, offering nothing more.

"Where is he?" I ask.

"How should I know? You're the one who is going to be the new leader. Seems a little counterproductive to leave you out of the loop, don't you think?"

"Aw, come on, Blondie," Sawyer complains. "Can't you help the poor girl out? Just this once?"

"Would you stop calling me Blondie?" she says, and the two begin bickering.

I have no idea how harmless the argument actually is, because while Sawyer seems to be joking, I think Juliet is serious. I back away before I get pulled into whatever it is they're arguing about. Sounds like domestic drama. I had forgotten that Sawyer still doesn't have his own house. As I walk away, I discover he needs to stop eating all the bread and start putting down the toilet seat.

"Todd?" I call. "Where are you?"

"I live to serve," I hear him reply. "What does my dearest friend need now?"

"You say you know everything that goes on around here. I need to find my friends. Where are they being kept?"

"Ah, humans are such strange creatures. A man points a gun at you, and you profess friendship."

"Please?" I beg.

"Do you see the building over there? The big one next to the tree?" He flicks his bushy tail in the direction.

"Yes."

"Rec room. You're welcome."

"Thanks, Todd. I owe you one."

"You do indeed."

There's a dark haired man standing by the entrance. He eyes me warily as I approach. "Ben said you'd show up. Sorry, I can't let you in."

The sun is in my eyes when I look up at him, so I squint. I must look threatening because he flinches away. I wonder what kinds of stories about me he was raised with.

I decide to make the best of it.

"What's your name?" I question.

He doesn't look like he wants to answer, but after a pause he says, "David."

"I'd just like to speak to my friends for a second, David."

"Sorry," he apologizes, sounding sincere, "but I've been given orders not to let anyone in here."

"Just for a second," I continue.

"Uh," he looks around nervously, "I can't."

"Well then," I say, sighing. "Do you enjoy sleep, David?"

"Uh . . . yeah?" he answers slowly.

I nod. "Me too. There's nothing worse than waking up to a bed full of angry crabs, isn't it? All those pincers clacking wildly. Might take off a chunk of skin. Very unpleasant."

He looks terribly confused, but even more unsettled.

"A crab king owes me a favor," I lie. "I'm sure him and his kingdom would be more than happy to help keep you company at night. That is, if you don't let me through those doors, of course." _Crab king? Are you serious, Cora? A monarch crustacean was the most threatening thing you could think of?_

Despite how stupid my threat is, David buys it. Poor guy.

Once the chain locks have been removed from the doors, I burst into the rec room and trip over a volleyball net.

"Are you hurt?" a voice asks. It's Sayid.

I pick myself up and brush off my bleeding knees. "Yeah, a little."

"Good," he answers cruelly.

I look around the room. Kate is seated in the corner, handcuffed next to a laundry basket full of basketballs. Jack is handcuffed to the bars of one window, Sayid to the bars of another window on the far side of the room, and John Locke to the third and final window to the left of the room. Charlie is handcuffed to a chair.

His expression of pure hatred makes me sad. I don't like knowing people dislike me.

"Look," I tell him, "I know I have a lot of explaining to do, but you can be angry with me later. Right now, wouldn't you like to see Claire?"

"What have you done with her?" Charlie yells.

"What have you done with Sawyer?" Kate questions.

"Sawyer's fine. He's wandering around outside somewhere." A thought strikes me and I grow agitated. "Hey, why aren't you all angry with Sawyer? The Others abducted both of us!"

"Sawyer's real name is James. His name was on the manifest," says Jack. "Yours wasn't."

_How did they know his real name? Did he tell it to Kate? _I find myself growing warm with jealousy. "Again, there's a really complicated answer to that. But right now, Charlie, wouldn't you like to see Claire? She can answer your questions. She'll vouch for me."

"You've probably brainwashed her," Sayid comments.

The doors behind us slam open and Ben stalks inside. "_Cora_," he roars, "_have you lost your mind?_"

David trails in behind him. "Mr. Linus, sir—" Ben shoots him a furious look, and David shrinks away.

Oops. "It's my fault. I made him open the door."

"Of course it's your fault," Ben mutters at a level that makes it clear I'm not supposed to hear, but I hear him anyway. "It's always your fault these days."

It's happening again. System failure. I'm upset that I got David in trouble, and I'm upset that I got myself in trouble. I can't think of any response. I just shrink up and wish everyone would go away.

Ben grabs hold of my wrist and starts pulling me to the doors. For a second I almost comply, but then a voice in my head yells, _You're a grown woman, dammit! _So I slap his hand away and turn to collect Charlie.

"What are you doing?" Ben has fixed one of those falsely calm expressions on me—the ones that usually give me a panic attack. Now it just pisses me off to a very dangerous extreme.

I find it easy to be brave if I pretend none of this is even real. Which isn't too much of a stretch. I mean, these really are fictitious people on a fictitious island. What does it matter if they're mad at me? Who cares? They aren't even real people anyway.

I grab hold of Charlie's shoulder and try to pull him up, but his arms are twisted behind him, and the handcuffs have been looped through the chair bars.

"Hey, take it easy," Charlie complains.

I make for the door. Ben looks relieved that I'm leaving, but I stop at the doorway and whistle loudly by sticking two fingers in my mouth. Thankfully, it works.

"What is it, my lady?" Eddard asks. He and two other wolves have responded.

I point at Ben. "Restrain him."

Ben takes a weary step back, his eyes widening with fear. "What are you doing?" he splutters.

Eddard and the two others lower into a threatening stance, their hair bristling and rising as they emit a deep warning growl, and back Ben up against a wall.

"Give me the keys to the handcuffs," I order firmly, holding out a hand.

"Cora, please listen to me," Ben says quietly. "You are making a horrible mistake."

I wiggle my outstretched fingers. "The keys, Ben."

Kate gasps from the corner. "What are you doing?"

John Locke is the only person in this room that hasn't said a word. He's silently observing us all, and I find it very unsettling.

"Eddard," I say, and the wolf snarls sharply.

Ben flinches a hand to his pocket, stuttering, "Alright, alright! Here!" He tosses me the keys.

I unlock Charlie's handcuffs and guide him towards the doors. "You can let him go now," I tell Eddard. The wolves back up and allow Ben to pass through the doors ahead of me. I look back at the remaining survivors—Jack, Kate, Sayid, and John Locke. I'm guessing I'll have to work on them one by one. And I doubt this little episode has won me back any of their friendship. Still, I don't want anything to happen to them as backlash for my intrusion into their prison. "Eddard, I have one more favor to ask."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Could you and your pack secure this building? If anyone should try and enter without me with them, you have my permission to stop them by whatever means necessary. Can you do this for me?"

"I'll bring the pack here at once," Eddard answers and sends one of the wolves, named Theon, to spread the word.

When the pack arrives, I enlist the help of a young wolf named Robert to escort Charlie to Claire's hospital. As I pass by Ben—who is standing in the grass right outside the rec room, jaw clenched tightly—the fury starts to wear off, and I feel like an ass. I wouldn't feel so bad if I had just lashed out and attacked him myself, but I used Eddard and his family. I used someone else to do my bidding without even thinking twice about it.

"You're really scary," Charlie comments randomly.

The guilt I was just starting to feel finally sets in. _This isn't me. Why am I acting like this?_ "Is everyone okay back at the beach?" I ask, trying to change the subject. "Has anyone . . .?"

"Been brutally murdered?" he finishes for me, grinning. "Alas, love. Things haven't been _that _interesting. We've mostly been battling sand fleas, ticks, giant man-eating crickets from the depths of Hell . . . That sort of thing. The only reason we left is because you took Claire." We pass by a few houses and Charlie whistles. "Looks like I should have switched teams a long time ago. You guys are living the life of luxury out here."

"Hey, you found the high school dropout!" Sawyer strolls over and slaps Charlie on the back. "Good to see you, Chucky!"

"It's Charlie," he corrects.

"Where are you two headed? Are you the only one they kidnapped?" Sawyer ponders. "Can't imagine what they want _you_ for."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asks him, glancing at me.

"Get used to being confused," Sawyer warns him. "I never know what the hell is going on anymore. Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a date with a hot blonde."

I wonder if he means Juliet, or if there's a blonde woman actually willing to put up with his antics.

"I'm guessing you run this place?" Charlie asks, looking down at Robert. "The dogs seem to really like you."

"Wolves," I correct. "They're wolves. And no, I'm not the leader." _Not yet, anyway._

"Who was that guy you pimp-slapped earlier?"

I snort. "Did you really just use the phrase _pimp-slapped_?"

"I call em like I see em."

"He's the . . . well, he's the leader here."

Charlie bursts into laughter, and I feel even guiltier.

"We're here," I say when we finally reach the hospital. It's painted the same pale yellow, like all the other buildings. "Now remember, Claire's due to go into labor any day now, so try not to get her too worked up."

"Has she been okay?" Charlie stops walking and stares me down. "Honestly?"

"I can honestly say that she has had the best treatment available. I told you, we're friends. There's no way I would allow something bad to happen to her."

I don't think Charlie believes me, but at least he isn't giving me a death glare anymore. I open the hospital doors and nod for him to enter. "Come see for yourself."


	13. Persuasion

News of what I did spreads incredibly fast. I discover that the whole island knows when a young girl bursts into the hospital, spewing some nonsense about how I'm Hitler and I'm going to enslave them all by using the animals as my soldiers. When she notices I'm sitting on the other side of Claire's hospital bed, she shrieks and trips twice on her way back out the door.

Charlie, who actually witnessed what really happened with Ben, starts to laugh.

"I don't see what's so funny," I huff. "That was a complete and utter exaggeration."

"She exaggerated, yes, but not really all that much." Charlie shrugs. "I mean, you _did_ set your little dog friends on your own leader."

_"Wolves_," I correct. "And I'm going to apologize later, okay? It's not like I wanted to use force. And you should be thanking me! I had to do it so I could bring you here!"

Charlie looks down at Robert, who sits rigidly next to me. "How do you get them to behave?"

My hand wanders down to pet Robert's ears, and he licks my fingers. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Shoot."

"I can talk to animals." Charlie slowly raises an eyebrow and I shrug. "It's true. I'm like that really unfortunate looking girl in _The Wild Thornberrys_."

Charlie straightens in his seat. "Oooo, I love American cartoons! You guys have TVs here?"

"We do," Ethan answers, "but we don't have cable. Hope you guys like Disney VHS's."

"I'm sorry, but you can do _what_?" Claire asks.

"Crazy, right?" I tell her. "One day I can't have a regular conversation with another human being, and then suddenly I can talk to every living thing on this stupid island."

"I'm so confused," Claire moans and brings a hand up to her forehead.

"I think you two should leave," says Ethan. "You're upsetting her."

"No, I'll leave," I offer. "Robert, stay here with Charlie. He's not allowed to leave this hospital without me. I'll be back later."

Robert bumps the top of his head onto my outstretched hand. "Yes, lady Cora."

I reach down and give Robert a good scratch behind the ears, and then I lock eyes with Charlie. _What an odd mess I've made. Ethan's supposed to be dead sometime soon, and now the person responsible for his death is sitting a few feet away from him without any reason to kill him. _"Can I trust you not to do anything stupid?"

Charlie gives a short burst of laughter. "And get on _your _bad side? No, no, no. I'll be a saint!" He takes a finger and crosses over his heart.

I run into Juliet on the way out.

"How is she?" Juliet asks. "I was about to check up on her."

"Looks fine to me." I take off towards the rec room, but stop short. "Hey, Juliet? Can I ask you something?" She nods. "What's in the serum you keep injecting Claire with? Did you find a cure for . . . whatever it is that's killing pregnant women?"

I catch the hints of a pathetically fake smile, but it's not the arrogant smirk I'm used to receiving. This one is full of legitimate pain. "It was something I've been developing this past year. Test results have led me to believe radiation poisoning is what's causing the autoimmune disorders in the early stages of pregnancy. The serum cannot combat the disorder within the first few trimesters, but luckily Claire was far enough along to survive with what I created."

Juliet looks like she hasn't slept in God only knows how long. She's taller than me, and bustier than me, and her cheekbones are definitely more defined than mine, but in some parallel universe I guess I can see why people think we're related. I mean, if nothing else, we're both blonde.

Then it hits me. _Is this what I used to look like? Walking around like a zombie, short tempered when forced to converse with others? _

I feel like crap. Looking back and comparing us both, I've only been here a few weeks and I already feel mental, while Juliet has been here for three years and she still seems relatively sane. Three years away from her old life—from her family. Oh, no. I had forgotten about her sister. And her new nephew!

_Come to think of it, she hasn't even done anything to me, and I've consistently been rude to her. And over what? Her personal life choices? Okay, so she had an affair with a married man. So what? That may piss me off, but at the end of the day it's none of my business._

She turns towards the hospital to check on Claire and I say, "Thank you . . . for Claire. For taking care of her."

Juliet's eyebrows scrunch, as if my thank you comes as a shock. "Of course."

_Has anyone ever properly thanked her for being here? For sacrificing her future so that we can live?_ "And thank you for being here," I tell her. "For helping. Your work means a lot to us."

"Does it?" she says quietly. "You're welcome, I guess."

I officially don't know how to handle this situation. There's something I could say to try and make it a little less awkward, to make Juliet a little less sad, but I can't think of what it is. So, like the socially inept weirdo I am, I just leave without even saying goodbye.

"Cora?" Juliet calls.

I turn around, thankful that the conversation won't end on such a weird note. "Yes?"

"I've heard about what happened earlier." She takes a quick glance around and moves in closer. "With the wolves."

My face immediately starts to warm. "Yeah, about that. You probably didn't get the real story."

She waves away my words with a dismissive hand. "I'm not here to judge your actions. But what you did . . . according to our laws, you should have been executed for it."

"_WHAT_?"

"Shhh!" she warns, placing a finger on her lips. "I'm just letting you know. It's a criminal offence to attack a community member like that. Especially Ben, since it's treason to attack our leader. Don't look so afraid. There isn't a chance in the world the council will approve your execution. I'm just letting you know—" she takes another quick glance around to make sure we're alone, "I just wanted to let you know the kind of power you have. You're not even the official leader yet and you have arguably more power than Ben himself."

"Okay," I say. "Thanks?"

"I just . . . wanted to ask . . . once you're the new leader," her eyes—misty with what looks to be sorrow—lock with mine, "will _you_ let me leave this place? Will you let me go home?"

_So that's what this is about. _"Yes," I tell her. "Of course."

"Really?" she blurts out.

"Sure. If you want to go home, you should be able to go home. I guess we can always find someone else to help us with your research."

Juliet sighs, blinking back tears, and she brings a hand up to clutch at her chest.

It's weird seeing her so . . . human. She's been so robotically stale since the moment I met her. It's nice to see she's not completely void. "And I owe you an apology," I tell her. "I haven't been treating you with much respect, and I'm very sorry about that."

"Thank you." She seems surprised. "I . . . I appreciate that."

All I can think about is what I will feel like three years from now. _What will it feel like to have been separated from my family for that long? From my mother? My siblings?_ The thought makes me sick. "Why can't you leave today?" I ask.

"Ben says I can't leave until I find a cure. I've tried, Cora, but I . . ." her voice wavers, "I've hit a roadblock. I just . . . I just want to go home."

_Think . . . _

When Jack was captured, Ben promised he would let Jack and Juliet go home if they conducted surgery on his spine.

"Spine!" I gasp. "Has Ben asked you for an x-ray yet?"

"He had it done after securing your friends in the rec room. I'm about to check on it. Why?"

_Think, Cora, think . . ._

After they conducted the surgery, Ben agreed to let them both go home—go in a submarine and sail off towards the Mainland.

Why didn't they get to leave?

Oh no.

John Locke was why.

And now he's _here. _He's in the perfect position to do exactly what he did in the show. I can't let that happen. I can't watch the look on Juliet's face when her only hope of leaving this island is blown to bits by a bald man with a backpack full of C-4. But when will he strike? The timeline is different now! It could be at any time!

Juliet can't afford to wait for me to become the leader. She needs to leave _now._

"I'll go talk to Ben," I say. "I might be able to get you out of here sooner."

Juliet gives me a look full of exhaustion. "I've been trying to convince him to let me leave for the past three years."

"No offence," I say, smiling, "but you're not me."

* * *

I give three impatient knocks and wait for someone to answer. A few seconds later the door swings open to reveal Ben, his circular reading glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose.

"Good," he says. "I was just about to look for you. I'd like a word, please."

He steps aside and I walk past him into the living room. The lamp on his desk is on. It shines down and illuminates all the masses of paperwork he has stacked into neat little piles. I hear the door close, so I turn around to accept whatever verbal bashing he has planned.

For a second I think he's going to yell at me, but then he exhales and takes a seat at his desk in the corner of the living room. "Do you have any idea what I've been doing for the past few hours?" he asks.

_Oh, here we go. _"No, I don't."

He folds his hands together and lays them out in front of him on the desk. "I've been trying to save your life," he says calmly. "I am currently swimming in legal paperwork, if you didn't notice."

_Holy crap. Juliet wasn't kidding._ "I came here to apologize."

"You came to . . . to _apologize_?" He gives a humorless laugh and stares at me as if I'm insane. "You really don't understand, do you?" he accuses. "What the hell did you think you were doing? I know this may come as a shock, but we have _rules_ here. Rules we must all follow, or very bad things will happen."

"I'm sorry, but I still don't see why this is such a big deal. Can't you just vouch for me? Don't you have final say on these things?"

Ben sighs and rubs his thumbs in circles over his temples. "Cora, I'm just one person. These people may call me their leader, but the reality is that there is nothing keeping them from kicking down my front door and doing away with me and you and all of the animals under our care. I can't keep making excuses for your behavior. You're scaring people. You have to start following our laws, or you're going to get us both killed."

"I thought all good monarchs struck fear into their followers?" _Isn't that how he operates? _

"Fear is cheap. It will only get you so far. You don't need them to fear you, you need them to respect you."

"What do I do?" I ask helplessly.

"You can start by informing yourself of our laws, and start following them. Better yet, you need to start enforcing them. Nobody is going to respect you if you can't even practice what you preach."

"Can you help me?" I hope I don't sound as pathetic as I feel.

"Of course." Ben's calm demeanor has returned. "After I'm done with this mess, I'll go over them with you."

_Crisis averted. For now, at least. Wait . . . what was I even here for to begin with? Oh, right. _"Can I ask a favor?"

"I don't know," he retorts sarcastically, returning his attention back to the paperwork. "Can you?"

"I want you to let Juliet go home on the next available submarine."

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.

Ben looks up and pulls off his glasses. "And why, may I ask, would I do that?"

"Because she wants to go home," I answer. "Isn't that a good enough reason?"

"Nobody forced Juliet to come here. She came willingly."

"That's bull, and you know it! You force fed her a bunch of crap about being located in Portland so she wouldn't be intimidated."

"Richard told her we weren't located in Portland," Ben argues, pushing his paperwork aside and turning to look up at me. "He told her right before she was scheduled to leave on the submarine, and she still came. She still chose to be here."

"Well, she doesn't _choose _to be here anymore. And frankly, I agree. Three years and all she has are theories that fail and leave one more woman dead. Can't you even comprehend what that's doing to her sanity?"

"Once you come here, you cannot leave this island."

"That's a lie!" I yell. "_You_ leave all the time! You even have fake identities so people can't trace you!"

"How do you know—?" he starts, but I cut him off.

I lean in close, pointing a finger at his face. "You are going to let that woman go home, right now."

"Or what?" he questions dryly. "You're going to wag your finger at me? Give me a good chastising?" Ben slowly pushes up out of his seat, so I'm forced to look up at him. "You could always command your wolves to do your work for you. You've gotten good at that."

I retract my finger, and my face warms with shame. "I'm sorry that happened, but you weren't listening to me."

He moves in closer. "You tell me not to treat you like a child, and yet you turn around and treat me the exact same way."

"I said I'm sorry."

"I have only ever done what you asked me to," he continues, his voice growing louder, "and you react as if I'm your enemy. I'm only trying to protect you."

"I'm sorry," I breathe. My back bumps into something, and my fingers run over the weathered spines of old books. I forgot to ask his favorite genre. "But I don't need you to take care of me."

"_We're supposed to take care of each other!_" he yells. How did he get so close without me realizing it? I can feel his breath on my face. The air around him smells of expensive cologne. "I just . . . I . . ."

I never allow anyone to get this close to me, especially not men. I'm hardwired to react negatively to the close proximity of males. My training tries to kick in, tries to make me flee the scene, tries to convince me that men are dangerous in the short term _and_ the long term. Isn't my father proof enough of that? I'm better off alone. Men are liars. _People _are liars. They will say whatever they need too to try and win your trust, and then they will betray you in the worst of ways and leave you wishing you were dead.

But despite this dark thought, something in the back of my mind reminds me of Ben's actions earlier today.

_ He stepped in front of a loaded gun to protect me. He shielded me with his own body._

My mother always said actions speak louder than words. And his actions now are speaking more than words ever could.

I look into his endless blue eyes and read the hunger there. Then something happens that hasn't happened to me in many, many years—my body grows warm with desire.

I've always been attracted to men, sure, but for the longest time I've been . . . well, for lack of a better word, unstimulated. I could appreciate men, but there was never a lustful spark inside me. Never any kind of sexual urge. Now my heart actually hurts from the ferocity of its beats.

Good God, maybe I _was_ depressed, and now I'm unleashing years of pent up hormones.

A horrible heat pulses through my core. I'm so aroused I start to panic. This is dangerous territory because I've never experienced it before, so I don't know how to handle it. It was easy to keep my distance from men when I had no physical desires, but now I'm consumed with so much lust I can't even think straight. Can he tell?

A fat drop of nervous perspiration tickles its way from the top of my neck down between my shoulder blades. My fight or flight reflex seems to be broken. By now I should be halfway to China, but for some reason I can't move. What's worse is that a rather large part of me is actually fighting to stay exactly where I am—pinned between his body and a bookcase.

We both flinch when the phone rings with a loud shrillness. It takes a second for the paralysis to wear off, but then Ben is hurrying to his desk. He pulls the phone off the hook mid-ring. "Hello?" he answers. "Yes. Yes?" At this he turns to look at me. "Alright. Yes, I'll tell her. Thank you, Juliet. Goodbye." He places the phone back on the receiver. "Juliet just examined my x-rays."

"Oh?" I'm so lightheaded I feel like I might pass out.

"There isn't anything there that doesn't belong."

"No tumor?" I question stupidly.

"No tumor. May I ask why you thought there was one?"

"Just one more thing I've been wrong about," I answer. "I'm glad to be certain, though."

This seems to please him. "I appreciate your concern."

I'm still backed up against his bookshelf, even though he's a good ten feet away. My hand brushes up against a particularly weathered spine, so I turn to see what it is. It's a copy of Jane Austen's _Persuasion_. I can honestly say I did not expect to find that on his shelf. Lined up in a neat row are all of Austen's works. I wonder if they're Alex's.

Now that Ben is not so close, I remember, once again, why I came here. "What will it take for you to let Juliet go?"

"Cora," he sighs, "please don't start that again."

"If it's a reprimand issue, I'll take full responsibility."

"She can't leave," he says, "because she hasn't discovered a cure yet."

"And what if she never does? How is that fair to her? She deserves to return to her family."

I can tell Ben is getting frustrated all over again. "But what about you?"

"What about me?"

His expression gives him away. He's said too much.

My stomach plummets at a horrible thought. "Ben . . . please tell me you didn't bring her here because I told you to. Please tell me this isn't my fault." He won't look at me, and it's making me sick. "Ben, answer me."

"Don't you want children someday?"

"I don't know! Maybe? But I'll gladly never have children if it means she gets to go home." This isn't making any sense. "If you won't do it for her sake, will you do it for _mine_? It would make me happy. Please?"

Ben doesn't even get the opportunity to answer because Alex practically breaks the front door down.

"Dad?" She looks around the room wildly, storming over to his desk when she sees him. "Why can't you just leave us alone?"

"Alex, please. I'm in the middle of a conversation."

She ignores him and turns to me. "Do you know what he did? He sent Todd to spy on me and my boyfriend!"

I quickly cover my mouth to try and stifle the snort of laughter that bursts force. For once it's not nervous laughter—I actually find the situation kind of funny.

Alex frowns. "It's not funny, Cora. This is such a violation of my privacy!"

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Todd's snout peek in through the open door. I abandon poor Ben and slip out before Alex starts throwing things.

Todd shakes his head violently and paws at an ear. "What an obnoxious child."

"I can see where she's coming from, though," I say. "You _were_ invading her privacy with . . . what's his name? Karl?"

"I call him dog breath."

I lean up against a nearby house to support myself as I laugh. "Why?"

"He's one of the people in charge of distributing the dog food to the carnivorous animals. Not all of us can be herbivores, my dear." Subtly sniffing me, Todd chuckles lowly. "My apologies for interrupting."

"Interrupting what?"

"Whatever it was you were doing with Ben."

I frown. "We were just talking."

"Must have been a very intimate conversation," Todd says. "You reek of lust."

I follow Todd as he weaves his way through the community. I slowly realize I'm receiving apprehensive looks from people, and the second I glance up at them, their whispered conversations abruptly end. One woman wraps an arm around a young boy and quickly leads him away from me, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I'm not following. "Todd?" I whisper. "Can we please go back to the clearing? I don't feel comfortable here."

Once I've settled down in the grass, far away from the homes in the Barracks, I finally begin to relax. "My friends from the beach—how did they get past the fence?" I ask, looking out across the expanse of the grassy field that leads to the sonar fence.

"From what I've heard, they propped a tree up against one of the pylons, and then shimmied up and over." He flicks a butterfly away with his tail. "What were you and Ben discussing before little miss drama queen interrupted?"

"Submarine travel."

"Interesting," Todd muses. "And how, exactly, is submarine travel an aphrodisiac? Is it some sort of human mating ritual I've yet to discover?"

"What are you talking about?"

Todd gives my pants a sniff. "You still smell of pheromones."

"Juliet asked me to let her go home. On the submarine."

"Ah," Todd says. "Poor woman. Although I am eternally grateful she's here."

"Because?" I prod.

"How do you think new animals are born? The serum she created works on us, but not on you. That, unfortunately, is something I fear I will never comprehend."

"Wait, so animals can give birth of the island, but not humans?"

"Precisely. The majority of humans you see walking around weren't born here. Their parents were recruited . . . or forced to come here, however you'd like to look at it."

"But then why is Ben keeping Juliet here?" I ask. "If he constantly brings new members to live on the island, he doesn't have to worry about the population dying off. Can't he just bring in a new fertility specialist? One without family attachments?"

"The woman impregnated a male mouse, Cora. She has a gift—some internal intuition that cannot be learned. That is why she stays. Ben cannot afford to let her go."

"Yes, he can," I argue. "You just said he recruits people all the time, so there will always be people here on the island. Why can't they just . . . I don't know . . . let Juliet continue her research back home? She has all the samples she needs. Why does she need to be _here_?"

"Ben keeps her here as a safety precaution, of course. In case someone important was to ever get pregnant on the island." Todd wraps his tail around his feet. "It would be best to have Juliet only a few minutes away."

I try and think of important female characters whose death would greatly impact the Others, but the only person I can think of is Juliet herself. "Someone important? Like who?"

"Hm," Todd pretends to ponder. "I just don't know. You perhaps?"

"Me?" I laugh uncomfortably. "I can assure you that I am in absolutely no danger of becoming pregnant."

"And you're certain you are not already?"

"Ever heard of the Virgin Mary? I'm pretty sure I'm not her incarnate, so that's anatomically impossible."

"Hm," Todd says. "I learn more about you everyday."

This isn't funny anymore. "Why would Ben be worried about me getting pregnant?"

Todd cocks his head and stares me down. "I assume it's because he's going to marry you, silly girl."

When people want to over-exaggerate, they say they were so shocked their jaw hit the floor. I think this moment is as close to that actually happening to me.

"Close your mouth, dear. That's a great way to catch flies." I continue to silently stare at Todd, my mouth slack. "Oh, you can't honestly say you didn't see it coming," Todd accuses. "It's only obvious that he's smitten with you. In fact, the funny thing is _you_ seem to have sealed your own fate."

"_How_?"

"The council doesn't trust you," he explains. "They fear you are a very dangerous traitor mascaraing as the legend you once were. Ben threw out their initial ruling of execution, but they will not allow him to throw out a sentencing altogether. Their second decision was for you to prove your loyalty. They decided simply marking you would not suffice, and instead decided to marry you off to the current leader, whom you attacked in the first place." Todd flicks his tail with a flourish. "It was Ben's idea."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" I rake my fingers through my hair. "How does that solve anything?"

"It's politics, Cora. Through marriage you become an official member of their society. Or, at least that's how the majority of people will look at it. It was the only way to pacify the masses. You've done an excellent job of terrifying them."

"It was one time!" I choke out. "I wasn't thinking. Oh, God, I wasn't thinking."

"Thinking is usually the best option," Todd quips.

_No, no, no. There has to be another solution._ "Can't they just exile me or something?"

"Do you know who chooses new leaders?" Todd asks. "I've heard quite a few people say they believe the island does, but I'm not entirely convinced of that. I believe it is dear old Jacob himself who chooses. I must say, in this instance I'm not sure if he's simply screwing around with you, or if he truly believes you are best suited for the job. Either way," Todd continues lightheartedly, "it is most amusing for me to observe."

"You said there's a council? What council? What do they say?"

"They fear it won't be long before you rally yourself some troops and completely disregard their carefully appointed hierarchy."

"But I wouldn't do that!" I argue. "Half these animals don't even like me."

"People tend to jump to the worst case scenario." Todd sits up next to my seat in the grass. "I must admit you've piqued my interest. Tell me, why would marriage to Ben be such a bad thing?"

It's not marriage to Ben I have a problem with.

It's not even marriage to anyone in particular.

It's marriage itself.

"Cora?" Todd shakes my leg with a paw. "Stop it. You're frightening me."

I didn't notice I was holding my breath. "I won't do it," I say sternly. _To hell with this place. To hell with Jacob and Ben and the survivors and the animals. Nobody is going to force me into a contract I can't escape from. Nobody in my family has ever gotten a divorce, and I always promised I would keep that chain unbroken by never getting married._ _It is the simplest solution._

The memory is resurfacing. The memory that I've pretended didn't exist for so long. For the first time since it happened, it assaults my mind full force, and it's like I'm experiencing it for the first time all over again. I need to tell someone. I need to release it out into the world or I'm going to go insane.

"Todd? I'm going to tell you a secret."

His ears perk up. "And why will you bestow such an honor upon me?"

"Because you can't speak English to anyone but me, so I don't have to worry about other humans finding out."

"Ah," he says, his ears flattening. "I cannot fault you for that."

So I begin.

_It's 2am, and I still haven't heard back from my mother. I have no idea where she went, or when she plans on returning._

_ If she plans on returning at all._

_ I leap up from my seat on the living room sofa when I hear the front door open. What I see makes me paralyzed with fear and confusion._

_ My father is supporting the full weight of my mother, who is covered head to toe in blood. Long gashes slash up and down her jeans and shirt, shredding the fabric and staining it with clotted blood. Almost the entirety of her forehead is missing. Just gone. Blood is everywhere. I can smell it from here._

_ I fall to my mother's side where my father has left her slumped against the wall. _"_What did you do to her?" I snarl defensively, my whole body racking with adrenaline._

_ "I didn't do anything," my father answers calmly. "I was on my way to the bar and found her like this."_

_ "Where's my purse?" she mumbles. "Where the hell is my purse? He's going to steal it!"_

_ "Mom? Mom, look at me." I try to take her bloodied face in my hands, but she lashes out and smacks me hard on the nose with the palm of her hand._

_ Her sour breath reeks of spirits. "I have to pee," she giggles._

_ She's drunk. _

_ My mother—whom I have never seen drink so much as a sip of after dinner wine—is completely wasted._

_ I hold her close and cradle her in my arms like a child. "Is she . . . drunk?"_

_ My father looks down at the both of us and snorts. "I just said I found her at a bar, Cora. Use your brain. Of course she's drunk."_

_ My sweet, loving, gentle mother has been soiled with alcohol, and it's turned her into a monster. A horrible, truthful monster._

_ The next time she cranes her heavy head up to look at me, there's a faint glimmer of familiarity. "I know you," she slurs, but she's not smiling. A drop of blood trails down from her forehead and over one of her eyes, and she doesn't even bother to blink it away. "You're that bitch that took my drink away."_

_ "No, mom, it's me." I'm in shock from hearing her curse. She was always such a strong advocate against it. "It's Cora."_

_ "Hey," she perks up. "Did I ever tell you I have a daughter named Cora?"_

_ "I know," I tell her. "That's me."_

_ But she's not listening. She's rambling on without stopping for breath. "I've got a whole mess of kids. You like kids? I like kids. They all hate me, though. Your kids hate you?"_

_ She's so drunk she doesn't even know who I am. Which just makes everything she says that much worse because she honestly doesn't know I can hear her. My throat closes up. "I don't hate you, mom."_

_ "They all resent me. Ungrateful little bastards. Everything I do around here, and all they do is feel sorry for themselves. But what about me?" She jabs a thumb at her chest, and I notice a whole new set of injuries. The gashes on her chest are full of dirt and fabric and tiny little rocks._

_ "Mom, you're hurt." I can barely speak. The sight of my mother so torn up and discarded is too much for me to mentally process._

_ I spend the next hour cleaning each and every wound on her body while trying to dodge her slaps. She seems to think I'm some woman she met at the bar. Cassandra woke up from all the yelling, but I order her to go back to bed. I don't want her to see mom like this._

_ "I have this daughter, see?" she complains loudly, swinging her arms around. "She would be so beautiful if she'd try, but all she does is mope and hide in her room, getting fatter every single day. And it worries me, you know? It's like sometimes I just want to scream at her, 'Get off your ass! Don't you know you're killing yourself?' But I can't do that because her father gives her enough grief already for being who she is."_

_ I cannot physically move. I'm trapped in my own body, frozen in the position of wiping my mother's cuts clean._

_ The only person whose opinion I actually care about just told me that I'm a fat, lazy, ugly slob._

_ "Cora?" My mother squints up at me. "Aw, no. Don't look at me like this, sweetheart. I'm not wearing makeup."_

_ I've started to cry, but I still cannot move. I cannot run away._

_ "Cora, you're my smart girl," she says lovingly. "Don't you ever get married. It's a damn joke. Don't you ever sign your life away. Don't become me." She digs her fingernails into my skin, pulling me close, her bloodshot eyes wide and crazy. "Promise."_

_ I've broken into panicked sobs. "Let go, you're hurting me!"_

_ Her eyes suddenly flicker, and she flops unconscious on the floor. _

_ "Mom?" I ask, shaking her shoulders. "Mom? Mom? Dad! DAD, HELP ME!"_

_ My father helps hoist her up onto the sofa, and she wakes back up. "I'm sorry about the car," she mumbles to my dad. "I'll fix it."_

_ "Where's the phone?" I yell. I don't know why it's just dawning on me. "We have to call an ambulance."_

_ "We can't," my father answers. He's staring at my mother with what looks like . . . sadness? But that can't be right. My father is never any emotion other than pissed off._

_ "Why not?" I counter, confused. "Dad, look at her. She needs an ambulance."_

_ "Because I didn't find her at a bar," he admits. "I found her sprawled out on the side of the road. She drove into a tree. You call an ambulance, they'll want to know why she's all busted up. Tell them the truth, and they'll throw her in jail."_

_ "Tell them you drove," I beg._

_ "I don't know what level my blood alcohol is right now," he chokes out, sucking up mucus. "Oh, Marguerite, what have you done?"_

_ I can hear my mother's snores over the dead silence. I heard what my father said, but I can't comprehend it. _

_My mother drove drunk?_

My _mother?_

_ It doesn't make any sense! How could she do something so stupid, so selfish? She's not that kind of person!_

_ Unless she drove into the tree on purpose._

_ "Do we have any Band-Aids?" my father suggests. _

_ "Band-Aids?" I lash out. "Her cuts are so deep, what the hell is a Band-Aid going to do?"_

_"I'm sorry," he cries and pulls me up into a constricting hug. His whole being reeks of alcohol. He's probably drunk too. "I never wanted this to happen. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't let her go to jail."_

_I stay stock still, like a frightened rabbit, as my father dampens my shoulder with his grown man tears. His embrace lasts a lifetime and no time at all._

_After my father wanders off to God knows where, I stay up the rest of the night and most of the morning watching my mother sleep to make sure she doesn't stop breathing. I'm overloaded on emotion, and now I no longer know how I feel. But I stay awake and look after her because she's my mother, and I don't know what else to do._

"That was the last time I allowed a human to hold me. To touch me."

Todd stares at the ground, surprisingly silent. When he looks back up, his voice is soft. "How old were you?"

I will never forget that day for as long as I live. It was my birthday. "Thirteen."

"What happened after that?"

"When she woke up in the morning," my voice cracks, so I clear my throat, "she didn't remember anything she said or did. My father told her some lie about the car and the cuts she got. I never told her what really happened. I couldn't." I didn't even notice I've been crying. The silent tears slipped out without any warning. "It was my fault."

Todd's ears flatten, and he lowers his head. "No, Cora."

"But it was," I insist. "I was so angry at her that day. My father . . . he treated us all like dirt, and she just . . . she never did anything about it! Your parents are supposed to protect you, and she _never did anything_! I said things to her that morning. Horrible, horrible things that I never should have said no matter how pissed off I was. She left, and I didn't know where she was going. I didn't know— "

Todd hops into my lap and places his front paws up on my chest. "Now you listen to me," he says sternly. "The actions of your parents or siblings or friends or anyone else you know have _never _been your fault. Ever. Do you hear me? You are not responsible for what someone else does or does not choose to do." I shake my head but he continues despite my reluctance to listen. "What happened to your mother was a terrible thing, but you weren't even there when it happened. You didn't force drinks down her throat. You didn't convince her to get into her car drunk. You're parents have both made irresponsible decisions, and you are not to blame."

It's what I've needed to hear for seven painstakingly long years.

"Oh, my melancholy friend," Todd says and licks my cheek. Then he leans his head forward to rest on my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around him to pull him into a hug. He lets me cry on him all afternoon.

I feel lucky to have a friend that can understand me but is physically incapable of divulging my secrets. It may be selfish, but it is what it is.

"Cora?"

I open my itchy eyes to discover the day is almost done, and there's a woman standing over me. Flanked on either side of her are people with guns drawn. Although the barrels are not pointed at me, the message is still clear. "What's going on?" I ask nervously.

The woman tosses a pair of open handcuffs at my feet. "I'm going to have to ask you to put those on."

"What do you want me to do?" Todd asks. "Should I retrieve Eddard?"

"No," I tell him. The last thing I want right now is a full on war. "It's okay. You should leave though."

Todd leaps out of my lap and scurries off into the trees. I'm sad to see him go.

"What were you just discussing?" the woman asks, eying me suspiciously.

There's no point in Todd being here. There isn't anything he can do. "I told Todd to leave, that's all. This doesn't have anything to do with him."

The woman looks familiar, but I can't remember what her name is. She was one of those characters that only showed up once or twice in the span of the entire show. She has short blonde hair, thin pinched lips, and really scary eyebrows. When she speaks, her voice is low and scratchy, like my chain-smoking aunt Claudine. "My name is Isabel. I'm the sheriff, of sorts. Do you know why I'm here?"

"I think I get the gist of it, yes." Never in my life did I imagine myself being incarcerated. I always thought I was too boring to do something jail-worthy. Go figure. "I'll cooperate." The sooner I get this over with, the better.

I start to panic after my hands are restrained behind my back and someone tries to gag me with a handkerchief.

"We cannot have you talking to any humans or animals until after the trial," Isabel explains. "It's just a safety precaution. Nothing to worry yourself about."

_What have I done? What if they're lying to me, and they're actually leading me somewhere secluded so they can shoot me in the back of the head and dump me in a hole without Ben knowing? What if this is the group Ben was talking about? The one he was so afraid would form from fear of me? Does Ben even know where I am right now?_

"Stop struggling," Isabel warns.

"I don't want the handkerchief!" I yell, twisting my head away from it.

"Have it your way," she says.

I open my mouth to call Todd back when somebody whacks the butt of their gun against the back of my head. My vision tunnels, and I fall into a heavy, silent darkness.


	14. What Cora Did

DHARMA, 1974

_My classroom is noisy with whispers. Susan, the girl behind me, asks Annie if she knows who our new teacher will be. Mrs. Goodspeed, our old teacher, has been missing for nine whole days. My dad says she's dead. He says the Hostiles killed her._

_ Annie twists around in her seat and answers, "It's one of the shipwreck survivors. The blonde woman." Annie would know. Her mother works in the school department._

_ "Which one?" Susan asks, leaning forward in her desk. "The tall one or the crazy one?"_

_ Annie's eyes widen. "The crazy one."_

_ The whispers get louder._

_The door flies open, and a rabbit cage comes walking into the classroom. "YO, YO, YO, MY PEEPS!" it yells. I crane my neck and see that a woman is carrying the cage. Annie was right. It's the crazy blonde woman that was rescued from the beach three months ago._

_Our new teacher sets the rabbit cage down on the teacher's desk at the front of the classroom and stares at us all. "How many of you can read Tengwar?" she asks loudly._

_Annie, as always, raises her hand. "What's that?"_

_"There's work to be done!" The new teacher throws her arms up and turns to the chalkboard. "Alright, class. My name is Miss Collins, and I'll be replacing your old teacher indefinitely."_

_Annie raises her hand. "Miss Collins, what happened to Mrs. Goodspeed?"_

_"Mrs. Goodspeed isn't a teacher here anymore. She, uh . . . she's taking an extended vacation." I watch her write lines of pretty scribblings on the chalkboard. "Now, I want everyone to take out a piece of paper and a pencil. We're going to learn how to introduce ourselves in the written Tengwar, as well as the spoken Sindarin." Under the strange flowing marks, Miss Collins writes (Greetings, friend. My name is _.)_

_Annie raises her hand again. "Miss Collins, what's Send-ertin?"_

_"Sin-dar-in," Miss Collins sounds out, and then she claps her hands together excitedly. "Elvish!"_

_Visions of scary tiny people with pointy ears—who never remember to leave me Christmas presents—come to mind._

_"Why are we learning Elvish?" Annie asks. "It's not a language. There's no such thing as Elves."_

_The class gets very, very quiet. I've never actually met Miss Collins before, but I've heard a lot about her. My dad told me he overheard the security personnel say they found her wandering around the beach near the submarine dock, trying to talk to a tree frog._

_Miss Collins slowly walks through the aisles, in-between Annie's desk and mine, and kneels down, facing Annie. "What's your name?"_

_I can't see most of Miss Collins's face through her long blonde hair, so I can't tell what mood she's in. She smells of sunscreen and hibiscus._

_Annie catches my eye, but she quickly looks back at the teacher. "Annie," she answers._

_"Well then, Annie," says Miss Collins. "Thank you for volunteering to go first. Repeat after me. EH-neth neen Annie. My name is Annie."_

_Annie, who is never shy, suddenly seems to have stage fright. "Eh-neth . . ."_

_"Neen."_

_"Neen . . . Annie?"_

_Miss Collins smiles, and I can feel everyone around me relax. "That was pretty convincing, for someone who denies their existence. Are you sure you don't have Elf in your lineage?"_

_One by one my classmates raise their hands and beg for this bizarre instruction._

_Miss Collins turns to me, and I finally see what she looks like up close. Her eyes are green, and her teeth are really white, and there's the faint sign of a dimple in her left cheek when she smiles._

_I've seen her before._

_"Hellllooooo?" Miss Collins is waving a hand in front of my face. I snap back to attention and shrink in my seat, listening as the class breaks out into giggles. "Are you going to tell me your name or not?"_

_ She knows my name. I know she does because I told it to her when I first met her in the jungle—the first time I tried to run away from Dharma. She's a Hostile._

_I shrink further in my seat and stare at my thumbs._

_ A loud siren goes off outside, and my classmates all look to Miss Collins for instruction. Miss Collins looks bored._

_ "Well, go on, then," she instructs. "Go huddle in the corner."_

_ During all the other drills, Mrs. Goodspeed would try to stay calm while retrieving her rifle from under her desk. Instead, Miss Collins unlatches the cage on her desk, pulls out the panicked little white rabbit, and starts to stroke its fur to calm it down._

_ Annie pokes my side and whispers, "Why isn't Miss Collins getting her gun?" _

_ I shrug, but it's a lie. I know why Miss Collins isn't worried about an attack._

_It's because its her own people are the ones attacking._

* * *

_Oh._

_My head . . ._

I crack my eyes open and find the late night sky is speckled with stars. Small little goosebumps prickle my skin. I reach up to rub at my arms in an attempt to warm myself, but my hands have been handcuffed behind my back. The night air is chilly, but the ground is even worse. No heat rises from my bed in the dirt.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize I'm in a large cage. I want to yell something inappropriate, but my speech is muffled. I've been gagged.

"It _is_ you." A massive dark-brown bird that looks like a mix between a giant bald eagle and an oversized hawk is standing outside my cage, peering in at me with its shiny black eyes. "It has been a long time, Cora. Where have you been all these years?" The bird is so big that it cannot fit through the bars of the polar bear cage.

_Hurley Bird? _It's hard to tell because the real Hurley Bird had been a cheap CGI effect whose claim to fame had lasted a total of four seconds on the show. This is an actual bird. "Mpfff!" I struggle to sit upright. "Mmmph! Mppfffffff!"

Hurley Bird extends his neck and spreads his wings to ready for flight. "They are returning. I am sorry I cannot free you, my friend. I will stay close and ensure they do not harm you."

_No! Don't go!_ "MMPPHHHHH!"

"Cora?" asks a voice. "What's wrong?"

"Mfffp?" I flop around, trying to sit up without the use of my hands.

Ben reaches my line of sight, and I'm suddenly thankful that my speech is muffled. My vocabulary is slightly less than academic at the moment.

There's the sound of keys clanking, then the rusty squeak of a hinge. Then he's kneeling down and tugging off the tie around my mouth.

"_You!" _I screech and try to kick him. "I just saw Hurley Bird! I just saw him, and I couldn't talk to him because you _gagged me!_"

"I didn't put anything in your mouth," he says defensively. "But that's precisely the reason why Isabel did. She didn't want you talking to anyone. Might I suggest," he says in a lower voice, "that you calm down. They are watching, and any acts of violence will not work in your favor."

_24-hour_ _surveillance. As if this place wasn't creepy enough. _I cannot see the cameras, but I know Ben's right. I try to sit up.

"Here," Ben tosses aside the blanket he's holding, "let me help you."

"_Don't you dare touch me_," I threaten.

Ben recoils and has the nerve to look confused.

"When were you planning on saying something?" I ask. "Oh, by the way, you're my fiancé. Surprise!"

He blinks, seeming stunned. "Forgive me if I'm misunderstanding you, but it sounds like you're blaming me for all this." I snort, and Ben stands up. "I honestly don't believe what I'm hearing. You're _still _blaming me for something _you _did." He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "The council wanted to execute you," he whispers. "Did you know that? That's the law here."

"Then maybe you should have just let them kill me," I say through clenched teeth.

"Well," he says, sounding hurt, "I'm sorry to hear that death is a more preferable choice for you than marriage to me."

"This isn't about _you_, you egotistical maniac! I'm not going to marry you, or Richard, or Jacob, or a woman, or a freaking billy goat! I'm not going to marry _anyone_! What part of that don't you understand?"

Ben is silent, thinking. "And what do you think will happen to your friends from the beach once you're gone?" he asks. "As far as the council is concerned, they are just as much a threat to our way of life as you are. The only difference being they are an _unnecessary_ threat. What about Sawyer? Charlie? What about Claire?"

"You leave them alone or I'll—"

"Or you'll do what?" he whispers sharply. "You'll be dead! What will it matter what you think?"

I stare him down. "You wouldn't dare."

"I told you. I'm only one person, and leader is only a title." Ben exhales and kneels back down next to me. "I understand your reluctance."

"You don't understand a damn thing," I counter.

"I do, actually."

The first thing that pops into my head is _Todd told him_. But it's a baseless fear, because while Todd can understand Ben, Ben cannot understand Todd. I don't know why I can't seem to remember that. "Oh, really? And what is it, exactly, that you understand?"

"Well," he starts, "unless you were lying to me all those years ago, I know quite a lot about you."

The more he tells me, the more confused I become. _What on earth possessed me to tell him—as a child, no less—the horrible things that I put up with? _Maybe it was because he could empathize? I mean, that's why I never told anyone, right? Nobody would get it. My friends sure wouldn't have.

I guess in a way it feels good to know somebody else—someone human—knows.

"If it will help any, don't think of it as a marriage. Just think of it as a . . . permanent friendship," he suggests.

_Do not lash out. Do not lash out. Breathe. You're being watched. _"Permanent friendship," I echo unenthusiastically. "Todd was right."

"Oh, for God's sake, Cora." Ben shakes his head in disapproval. "You're still listening to what he says? You are the greatest thing that ever happened to that fox. For the first time in his entire life he has a human that can understand him. I'm sure he's having the time of his life filling your head with whatever lies he can think of."

"I see you talking to him all the time."

"It's never to discuss _you_," Ben admits. "I made a deal with him about Alex. Whenever she's not within the community boundaries, Todd keeps an eye on her."

"And Karl?"

I catch the flash of annoyance in his expression. "And Karl. I'd just as soon send that boy off the island, but then Alex would never speak to me again."

"What about Juliet?" I ask. "Todd said you're keeping her here because of me."

Ben averts his gaze. "I . . . I admit that is the majority of the reason she is here, yes. When I was young, you were very vocal about your feelings towards children. When pregnant women started dying on the island, I brought Juliet here because I knew it's what you would have wanted."

I close my eyes and let my head slump back down against the ground. "It _is_ my fault she's here."

"She's getting very close to finding a cure," Ben adds enthusiastically. "If she keeps up her hard work, she'll be able to go home soon."

"Why is she the one that needs to find the cure? Can't you just bring in another fertility specialist to finish her research?"

"She is the best in the world," Ben proclaims. "I would settle for nothing less. If she cannot figure it out, I highly doubt a less qualified specialist will."

I'm instantly on the defensive. "Yesterday you asked me if I want children. Is that what all of this is about?" I remember what Todd said the first time I spoke with him. He may be a pervert, but it looks like he had been right all along. "Is that what this wedding is really about? So you can have the legal freedom to knock me up whether I like it or not?"

Ben furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and then he understands my implication. "You insult me," he says quietly. The sincerity in his voice instantly dissolves my rage. Without another word, he's up and heading for the exit.

I swell with the overwhelming fear of abandonment. It's dark, and noisy, and cold, and the last thing I want is to be left alone. "Wait. Wait, Ben, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that." He reaches the cage door and rests a hand on the lock. "You say you know so much about me," I say hastily. "Then you should already know I don't trust people. I have a tendency to think the worst of people. I'm sorry, It's just . . . I can't help it." For what seems like an eternity, Ben stands silently by the door, staring off into nothingness.

I feel stupid lying on the floor like this. "Can you at least help me up before you leave?"

Even before he makes a move, I know he will. He's too polite not to.

I can't help but observe him. He's wearing a pair of pressed slacks and a pale blue button-down shirt, as usual. It looks nice—clean. So much different from the men I've encountered in my lifetime—all baggy jeans and tasteless tattoos and speech all garbled with slang. It's refreshing to be pursued by someone well dressed and articulate. Even through the generous space between us, I can still smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. I don't know what it is, but every man in the world needs to wear it.

"Okay," I say when he helps me sit upright, "I understand that what I did was really stupid and reckless and against your rules. I'm ready to accept responsibility, and if that means I have to get married . . . then so be it."

Ben nods. "I'll relate your decision to the council immediately."

"Does that mean you can take these handcuffs off? My arm is cramping."

"I'm afraid not," he answers with a sigh. "There's still going to be an official trial tomorrow morning. They cannot be removed until then."

"Can you at least handcuff them in front of me? I can't sleep like this."

"That I can do," he answers, smiling.

Once my arms aren't twisted behind me, I try to rub my hands together to warm up.

"It's a little chilly tonight, so I brought you a blanket." Ben shakes it out a few times to get the dirt off, and then he drapes it over my shoulders.

The thickness of the material instantly cuts out the cold, and I pull it close around my neck. "Thank you." This small act of kindness makes it near impossible to stay angry. I hold out my handcuffed hands. "Friends?"

Ben clasps one and shakes it.

"Where are we, exactly?" I ask, surveying the cage. In the far corner is the red button Sawyer pushed to receive a fish biscuit.

"A smaller island a little ways off the Mainland."

"Why didn't you guys have my trial on the Mainland?" I ask. "Why was I brought here?"

"I'm about to show you," Isabel's throaty voice says from behind us. "Have you finished with your little visit, Benjamin? I'd like to speak with Cora alone, please."

I don't like Isabel. She scares me. The only memory I have to base her character off of is being handcuffed and whacked in the back of the head with the butt of a gun. One might say I'm not her biggest fan. And I definitely don't feel safe being near her, not to mention being _alone_ with her.

My hands instinctively reach for Ben's, and I whisper, "I don't want to talk to her alone."

Ben looks transfixed at our clasped hands. His eyes travel up to rest on mine. "May I stay, Isabel?" he asks.

Isabel purses her lips, and then she shrugs indifferently. "I don't see why not. You two are about to spend the rest of your lives together. What's five more minutes?"

* * *

Isabel, torch in hand, leads us through a mess of vines and brush that lead deep into the jungle. Ben walks beside me, a silent comfort.

"Do you know what Dharma originally used this island for, Cora?" Isabel asks.

"Animal experimentation?"

"Precisely," she says, not sounding particularly impressed with my knowledge. "They called it the Hydra. Dharma was particularly interested in psychological studies. That is why most of the animals on the island are known for their highly functioning brains."

_I guess that explains why Todd's here._

"And do you know why we have taken your case so seriously? Do you understand why Benjamin cannot simply throw your trial out? Usually leaders have final say on a verdict, but you are a special case." Isabel stops walking at last and turns to look at me. The flames of her torch flicker across her face and cast eerie shadows. "Do you know why?"

"No," I answer.

"This is why." Isabel nods for me to walk forward. "This is what you are capable of."

We're standing at the edge of a deep hole. Tossed inside, piled up high, are the skeletal remains of dozens upon dozens of Hydra workers.


	15. I Do

DHARMA, 1975

_School hasn't been the same since Miss Collins returned home to Los Angeles. Some people say she quit, but my dad says she got fired. Either way, I miss her a lot already. It's been exactly 8 months and 23 days since I last saw her. Our new teacher isn't anywhere near as interesting. Or pretty._

_ Miss McWilliams puts on an overly exited expression and claps her hands together like some sort of poor man's Miss Collins. "Isn't this exciting? We're almost there!"_

_ Today my class is taking a field trip to the Hydra station on the little island offshore. I stand next to the railing on the big tugboat carrying us across the ocean. Annie places a hand on top of mine and squeezes excitedly. Her father works on Hydra Island with the animals._

_ "One day I'm going to work there with my dad," she tells me._

_ I smile at the thought. Annie is smart enough to work anywhere, and her parents both have really important jobs. That's usually how you get picked to be anything special around here._

_ My dad's a Workman, which means I'll probably become a Workman, too._

_ Miss Collins didn't think so, though. She got mad when I told her my fears about becoming a nobody like my dad. She told me I was plenty smart enough to become whatever I wanted to be. Well, she used a lot if curse words, but that's basically what she said._

_ 8 months and 23 days. I'm starting to forget the sound of her voice._

_ A Hydra worker greets us at the dock and gives us a tour of the facilities. First he takes us to the room where they conduct experiments on animals. We walk past caged polar bears, tanks filled with dolphins, sharks, and penguins, birds of every color and shape, and lots of rabbits with little numbers on their hind legs._

_ I want to pay attention to the lecture, but all of these animals make me think of Miss Collins. She loved animals. Every Friday she used to bring animals into the classroom and teach us how to bond with them. Miss Collins wouldn't have approved of any of this experimentation._

_ There's a loud whirring noise, and then all the lights shut off. Students start screaming until the generator kicks in and lights the place back up with a dim yellow glow._

_ "Calm down, children," Miss McWillams says._

_ "Power plant must be having troubles," the Hydra worker says cheerfully. "No need to be alarmed."_

_ A screaming begins somewhere down the hall, and we all whip our heads in its direction. There's a barking, more screams, and then silence. Then the screaming begins again, closer this time._

_ "Everyone behind me!" Miss McWillams starts pulling my classmates behind her at random._

_ The Hydra worker stutters something about getting a rifle just as a whirling sound whooshes past us. The Hydra worker cries out and falls to the floor, a knife sticking out of his chest._

_ Miss McWillams has fainted._

_ A wolf charges at us from out of the darkness, blood dripping from his red-stained snout._

_ "Not them," a familiar voice commands, and the wolf stops in his tracks, growling lowly._

_ Annie clutches at my arm. She isn't the only one sobbing. I can see Susan's red, swollen face from here, wet with tears. Even the boys in my class, the boys who always pick on me, are crying. It makes me happy, because I am not afraid._

_I don't know why she's here, but she is, and that makes me indescribably happy._

_ "It's nice to see you all again," says the voice, and the owner steps into the light._

_ It's Miss Collins, wide-eyed and twitchy. In her bloodied hands are a scalpel and a long piece of metal piping. Blood has splattered in thick dots on her face and all down her shirt. "Children," she announces as she shuffles over to the dead Dharma worker and yanks the knife out of his chest, "it's best if you stay here for the next few days. There's food in the refrigerator down the hall. I'll come back for you soon." She turns her attention to Miss McWillams, who shrinks away from her in fear. "Watch over them."_

_ Miss McWillams shakes her head violently. "Okay," she whispers._

_ "Come along, Brandon. We're not finished yet," Miss Collins calls sweetly, and the wolf pushes past us, following her down the poorly lit hallway._

* * *

"Cora June Collins—"

_Genocide._

"—you are charged with—"

_Genocide._

"—treason and conspiracy involving an animal. How do you plead?"

_I committed genocide. _

This may not be the worst day of my life, but it's made a special spot on my top 3. I don't think I've ever had more than a few people hate me at any given time. Now I'm staring into the faces of an entire courtroom full of people that would most likely prefer me dead. Apparently they have good reason to. I'm a hell of a lot crazier in the future than I can possible begin to imagine.

_For the love of all that is holy . . . skinning polar bears and wearing their fur like a cape? Killing off an entire island full of people? What the hell was wrong with me?_

_ Why do I turn out like this?_

I take a steady breath and say, "Guilty."

The council is excused to debate their verdict in private, and I'm left seated at the front of the courtroom. Alex is in the front row, seated next to Karl. She smiles encouragingly at me and jabs an elbow into Karl's ribs, prompting him to mimic her show of support.

After a long awaited break, the council returns and delivers their pre-discussed verdict.

It's only when Alex looks genuinely surprised that I realize the general populace doesn't know what's going on. They think this verdict has only just been decided. They don't realize this formality is all for their benefit.

Ben slips a ring onto my engagement finger and all I can think of is that stupid SpongeBob episode where SpongeBob sings, "It's the best friends forever, best friends forever, ring!"

It's all so ludicrous. There really isn't anything else to do but laugh.

* * *

A thin strand of hair falls into my eyes, and I blow it away.

"Sorry," Juliet apologizes. Her thin, nimble fingers scoop up the strands and add them to the intricate braided hairdo she so adamantly insisted she create for me.

"I always thought I'd be doing this for one of my sisters," I tell her. "Getting them ready for their wedding."

When she finishes braiding, Juliet rests a gentle hand on the top of my head. It's such a motherly gesture that it makes me uncomfortable. "There," she offers me a smile, "It's all done."

I look at myself in the mirror for the first time since I returned to the mainland. Immediately upon arrival, I had myself a nice hot shower—well, after I called off Eddard and his pack, of course. True to their word, they had guarded the rec room all day and night. I offered him any favor he could think of in return, but he refused, claiming he was the one forever indebted to me.

Wolves.

My hair has dried since then, and the humidity has been tamed somewhat, thanks to Juliet's small braids that conjoin together across my temples and down my back. I turn my head from side to side to inspect the blonde crown of hair. I look like an elf. I wonder if that was the point.

Someone retrieved a few dresses from inside the closet of my old, creepy house, but nothing either fits right or is wedding appropriate. The only white garment I owned was the white animal skin cloak, which no one even bothered to retrieve for obvious reasons. I end up wearing kakis to my own wedding.

I insisted that Richard conduct the ceremony, but he flat out refused. Having it conducted by a fellow Catholic is the least these people can do to appease me. It took a long while to persuade him, but eventually he relented.

When the time arises for "you may now kiss the bride", I offer Ben a handshake instead. Our wedding is over in no time flat. I had anticipated a deep feeling of internal sorrow, something signifying my displeasure with having to go through with this, but honestly, I don't feel any different.

It's like the anticipation of your birthday. You wait for it to approach, expecting to feel so much older and wiser, and then you don't end up feeling any different at all.

I haven't decided if this disappoints me or not.

* * *

I requested not to have a reception, but that didn't stop all the women in the community from bringing food to Ben's house and forming their own social gathering against my will. I wish Pumba were here to distract me, but he befriended a chicken, and I haven't seen him since.

I don't know what's worse—the roomful of women, clucking like hens and offering me pseudo-smiles, or all the food they brought.

I can't tear my eyes away. There isn't an inch of free space left in the kitchen. Chocolate cakes drizzled with even more chocolate, homemade sugar, chocolate chip, and gingerbread cookies, brownies and pastries and pastel coated cupcakes with little sugary sprinkles that glisten in the overhead lighting. I have to keep swallowing so I don't drool.

"Cora, may I be the first to tempt you with a dessert?" A spindly woman with bright red lipstick advances on me like a bird of prey. She's holding out a plate with some sort of sickly-sweet strawberry cream cake on it. "I made this myself."

It's like some sort of sick, twisted exam that I will never pass no matter how hard I study.

I open my mouth to say no, but then I want to say yes. I want to eat that cake and every other dessert in this house. The strawberries are oozing with jelly, and the frosting is glistening with tiny sugar crystals. I want it. I want it all. My stomach growls. "No thank you," I mumble miserably.

The woman brushes off my denial. "I insist. It's an old family recipe."

"No, thank you," I repeat louder.

Ben is standing alone in the corner near his bookshelf, ignored by the chattering mass. He isn't making these women leave me alone, and it's starting to upset me. Why isn't he doing anything?

_Make them go away! _I try to tell him with my eyes.

Red-lipped woman spears a chunk of the strawberry perfection with a fork, and she offers it to me like a baby. "Just take one bite. Nobody can resist my baking."

_Eat it._

It's back. The voice I've heard all my life.

_What's one bite? You can take one bite._

No, I can't.

_Do it._

No.

_Do it, Cora._

I'm not listening to you anymore.

_Eat the cake._

Go away!

_EAT IT!_

"AGGGHHH!" I scream, flailing my hand and knocking the fork clear across the room.

Instant silence.

I stay frozen in place, my trembling hand still in the air, the backside speckled with frosting. Drops of sweat trail down from my hairline.

Ben, a small smile in place, has finally decided to step in. "Thank you all for your well wishes," he announces, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The woman with the red lipstick looks like she's about to cry. Everyone else just looks uncomfortable and confused.

"Now. Please." Ben makes his way across the living room and into the kitchen. "And please take your baked goods with you."

"But," says red lips, "they are our gifts."

"Cora and I are deeply appreciate of your thoughtfulness," he says kindly. "But if you do not take them with you, they will end up in the garbage, uneaten."

The women slowly gather their food and file out of the house like a herd of dazed cattle.

"Why didn't you make them leave sooner?" I complain as soon as the front door shuts behind them.

"What good would that have done?" Ben scrapes a glob of frosting off the kitchen table with his finger and eyes it with a look of disgust. "I needed to hear you firmly refuse before stepping in. I can't fight all your battles."

"I'm just glad they're gone," I sigh, leaning back into the sofa. "Honestly, it's more annoying listening to a roomful of human females than it is to listen to a whole tree full of birds."

"Can you really blame them?" Ben washes the frosting off his finger and takes a seat next to me, making sure to keep a good foot length of space between us. "I'm not going to pretend like I understand the female mind, but I think socialization is in your genetic code. And since this is arguably the most interesting thing to happen since Juliet's arrival, I understand why they went a little overboard. I'm guessing they're restless for something to celebrate."

"Why don't you guys throw parties?"

"We do, occasionally," says Ben. "For birthdays and anniversaries and such. We have a bookclub, too."

I sit up straighter, excitement pumping through my veins. "Sign me up. What are you guys currently reading?"

"_Carrie._" Ben smirks. "Can't say I'm a fan, but it was Juliet's turn to host the club, and it happens to be her favorite book."

I rub my hands together in anticipation. "Hope you guys like Tolkien because I know what I'm picking when it's my turn."

Ben clears his throat and glances at me from out of the corner of his eye. "I have a present for you," he says nonchalantly.

_What for? Oh. Right. Wedding gifts._ "Oh?"

"I'll go get it." Ben shoots up and hurries down the hall out of sight. He returns with a small shoebox. "Don't shake it," he warns. "It's very delicate."

As gently as I can, I lift the lid and pull aside the tissue paper. Inside the box is a single book. At the sight of it my heart breaks out in sporadic beats. "Is this—?"

Ben teeters excitedly at the edge of his seat. "The oldest surviving copy, as far as I know."

"I don't want to touch it." It would be just my luck to have it survive all these years just to decompose within my very hands, not to mention the oils and sweat and whatever else is coating my fingers.

"It's not _that_ delicate," Ben laughs.

The edges of the cover have some slight wear, and the illustrations on the cover are a few shades lighter with age, but besides that, it's a perfectly intact copy of _The Hobbit_.

I lift it out of the box and lay it gently in my lap so I can admire it. I run my fingers over the stiff spine, caressing the cover and the sides of the yellowed pages, barely applying any pressure for fear of destroying it. I probably look insane, but I honestly don't care. I love books like most people love money. In my lap I hold what was probably the only good thing to come out of my childhood.

Ben looks almost as excited as I feel, and then I remember I don't have a present for him. Careful to cradle the book back into its little shoebox home, I close the lid and set it in front of me on the living room table. "I'll um . . . I'll knit you something, sometime. I can make you a scarf if you want."

"You already have," he says cheerfully, leaving to retrieve it from somewhere down the hall.

It's the 4th Doctor's scarf from Doctor Who.

I start laughing, which in turn makes Ben laugh, which makes me laugh harder.

Time traveling Doctor.

Time traveling island.

It's funny.

"Do you even know what Doctor Who is?" I ask.

He makes a face. "Obviously. You made me watch them." Ben wraps the comically long scarf twice around his neck, and it still almost touches the floor. He returns to his seat next to me on the couch, a little bit closer this time. "I've tried watching the newer ones, but they just don't have the same charm." He smiles. "Nostalgic bias, I suppose."

I haven't been this giddy since my mother splurged one Christmas and bought me three brand new books from an actual bookstore. "Where did you get it?" I ask in amazement. "The book?"

Ben flits his eyes down at his hands. "You called me out earlier about leaving the island. I tracked it down on a trip to Europe. It was the one book I knew I needed in my collection." He looks back up at me. "It seems only right that you have it."

"Don't move," I order sternly. Ben practically turns to stone. Before I can second guess myself, I lean over and press my lips to his cheek.

I'm filled with a desire to run. Not away from this situation, but just because I'm bursting at the seams with adrenaline. The notion is foreign to me. I never _want _to exercise. I force myself to do it because I'm trying to be healthier. Now it has a strange addictive quality.

When I pull away, Ben immediately turns to look at me, and our faces are suddenly very close. I can't break away from his eyes. Not that I want to. His scent is so faint today that I can't smell it unless I'm this close.

A loud thump sounds from down the hall.

"What was that?" I ask, blinking away my stupor.

"I don't know," Ben answers as he slowly makes his way to his feet. "Alex isn't home."

It could be anyone. No, no, no, what if it's Locke? What if he escaped, and now he's trying to figure out a way to blow up the submarine I promised to send Juliet home in?

I'm drunk off adrenaline, so I take off towards the noise. Ben springs forward and grabs me around the waist, pulling me back against him. "Yes, Cora, charge in unarmed. Excellent idea." Ben pulls a handgun out of, literally, nowhere.

"What happened to fighting with bows and arrows?"

"You use a bow exclusively," he quips. "I never said I did."

We make our way down the hall, listening for the noise. It's coming from Ben's room. It's coming from the closet. Maybe it _is _Locke. I remember in the show he hid in Ben's closet once while holding Alex hostage. But why would he be in such a random spot now?

The closet door jostles, so I pull it back while Ben takes aim. Eddard's little wolf pup is teething on one of Ben's dress shoes.

I pick him up by his scruff—startling him—and hold him in front of my face. "You're a little scamp, aren't you?"

"Please don't tell my father!" he begs. "I'm sorry I chewed the shoe, lady Cora, but my teeth hurt."

I sigh loudly as he stares at me with his sad little puppy eyes. "Sweetheart, if you need something to chew on, I can get you something that isn't going to be missed."

He whines nervously. "You're not going to tell on me?"

"As long as you promise to stop chewing up other people's belongings, then no, I won't tell."

"I promise!"

I set him back down just as Ben looks over my shoulder.

"Not my Bostonians!" Ben picks up what's left of the shredded black mess and cringes. "This was my best pair." He turns to the pup that cowers behind my legs. "Was an electric shock not a good enough lesson for you? You had to go for round two?"

"He's teething," I explain. "He won't do it again."

"Well, he might as well have the other one." Ben tosses the shredded shoe's mate towards the door. "Here, take it and be gone."

"I'm going to go on a jog," I announce randomly.

Ben gives me a subtle look of surprise. "Right now?"

"Yes. Do you have a pair of shorts I can wear? These kakis aren't exactly workout material."

"Let me escort you, lady Cora." The little wolf paws at my pant leg. "For your kindness about the shoe, I shall be your bodyguard while you run!"

I squat down and pet his soft poufy fur. "I've just realized I don't know your name."

"Brandon," he barks.

"What does he want?" asks Ben.

"Brandon here has offered his protection while I'm on my jog." I'm trying very hard not to laugh. "I can't imagine the horrible things that might attack me from _inside _the confinements of the fence."

"Lizards!" Brandon interjects and head-butts my leg. "And birds! I'll scare them all away!" He lets out a puppy yelp-bark that roughly translates into _Warning!_

"He says I need to watch out for lizards," I tell Ben, who chuckles and shakes his head.

"Lizards are a very real threat, lady Cora," Brandon argues. "You can't be too careful around them."

Ben digs around in his dresser to try and find something suitable for me to run in. "I should let you know that I won't be here when you return from your run. I have business to conduct offshore."

"Should I know about said business? For, you know, future leadership tips or something?"

"It should be settled quickly," he assures me. "Just some last minute paperwork. Nothing for you to worry about for now." Ben glances up at me, and his smile crinkles the ends of his eyes. "Enjoy your run. We'll start training again when I return. If you should need anything before then, please don't hesitate to contact Juliet."

It hits me hard, deep within my chest, and I don't know why. A painful sadness washes over me at the thought of him leaving. The overwhelming feeling of abandonment is back. I try to force the ridiculous thought away, but it won't budge. _Stop being creepy, Cora. It's not like he's never coming back. _"When will you be back?" I blurt out.

Ben studies my expression before answering, and I can feel my entire face betraying me by reddening. "A day or two. Three at the most." He returns his attention to the contents of his dresser. "You're not worried you'll miss me, are you?"

"I'll starve without you." My eyes start going crazy, landing on everything in the room in an attempt not to make eye contact. "I don't know how to cook vegetarian food. I can't live off bowls of salad and fruit forever."

Five minuets ago, Ben was tense with an almost shy apprehensiveness at being close to me, but now I'm the one bumbling around like an idiot. Ben's voice has regained its usual velvety calmness, and I struggle to focus on the content of his words instead of the smoothness of his speech. "If you ask politely," he says evenly, "Alex will make your meals. She might even take the time to teach you some of her favorite recipes. She likes you."

"I must seem rather pathetic," I admit. "I can't even feed myself." I take a seat at the edge of his bed and immediately scrunch my eyebrows in shock. It's so comfortable that it makes me annoyed that I've been sleeping on the old sofa in the living room. "Would you mind if I sleep in here until you get back?" I ask. "I promise to change the sheets, I just . . . the couch is throwing my back out."

Ben looks up, distress in his eyes. "I was unaware it impaired your sleep. Please, take my room. I'll sleep on the couch when I return."

I wish he would hurry up and find some shorts because I don't think I can blush any deeper than I already have.

_Am I really going to kick him out of his own room?_

_Yeah, I am._

"This is the best I can do," Ben announces, handing me a pair of navy blue swim trunks. I reach for them, and his fingers linger on mine. "Be vigilant on your run," he teases. "Watch out for lizards."

_Say something. Stop staring and say something. _All I manage to mutter is, "Okay."

After I change into the swim trunks, I set out to find Eddard. Brandon proudly explains to his father about his sudden devotion to my safety.

"I'll watch over him," I whisper to Eddard when Brandon becomes preoccupied with attacking a particularly long blade of grass.

We set off into the edges of the Barrack homes, towards the trees that lead to the grassy field where I train. I can feel the adrenaline flowing through my veins, feeding my legs and allowing me to run faster than usual. I don't even bother to try and pace myself, I just take off.

Brandon gallops alongside me, yipping excitedly.

I stop only when I've reached the point of exhaustion. Brandon climbs onto my stomach when I find a nice resting place under a tree near the fence. I've made it quite a ways away from the Barracks. I'm a lot farther out than where I usually train, which takes a good fifteen to twenty minuets to reach at a walking pace. I smile at the fact that I don't feel hungry.

I dose off.

_In my dream I'm still sitting at the edge of Ben's bed, watching him search for shorts._

_ "When will you be back?" I blurt out._

_ Ben studies my expression before answering, and I can feel my entire face betraying me by reddening. "A day or two. Three at the most." He returns to the contents of his dresser. "You're not worried you'll miss me, are you?"_

_ "I am," I answer._

_ He wasn't expecting that, and to be honest, neither was I. _

_ In the blink of an eye, he's pushed me down against the bed, and I let him. People back home are getting married at my age, and I've never even kissed someone before. I close my eyes and wait for something to happen._

"Cora!" Brandon alerts, pouncing on my chest. "It's a stranger!"

I leap up, blinking away the grogginess, expecting to find someone about to attack. Instead, I find a child standing dangerously close to the outside of the sonic fence. It's a little boy, his golden hair sopping wet with blood. He stares blankly at us through the invisible barrier, unblinking.

"Hello? Sweetheart? Hey, can you hear me?" I hold out my hands, palm up, and try to speak as kindly as I can manage. "Just stay right there, okay? I'm going to go get help. Just stay right there, honey. Okay? _Right there_. Don't move."

I trip over my own feet as I spin around and break into a sprint back towards the houses, fueled by the adrenaline rush of my dream. By the time I return, I'm so out of breath I can't explain myself. Sawyer tries to help steady me to get an answer, but all I can do is cough.

"Did you see a ghost or somethin'?" Sawyer helps hold me up as I try to speak.

"Where is . . ." I pant, cough, pant. "Where is . . ."

"He's gone," Juliet answers before I can finish.

"Where did . . . he go?" I manage to say.

Juliet shrugs. "What do you need? I may be able to help."

"The combination . . . for the fence," I say.

"Yes, I know it," she says. "Why do you need it?"

"I saw a little boy . . . in the jungle. He's hurt."

"Where?" Juliet asks, suddenly straightening and seeming interested. I guess we share the same protective instincts.

"I've got you, Doublemint," Sawyer assures. He tosses my arm over his shoulders to help me keep up. "Lead the way."

"Stay here, Brandon," I order sternly.

"I can't, lady Cora," he barks. "I'm not done protecting you."

"Brandon, you stay here, or I'll tell your father what you did with the shoe."

He hunkers down to the ground and scampers away.

With Sawyer's help, the three of us quickly arrive back at the fence.

"Where's the kid?" Sawyer releases me and starts pacing the length of the fence, scanning the trees.

I put my face in my hands. "I told him to stay right here! His head . . . it was covered in blood! He's delirious! He must have wandered off!"

Juliet squats down to punch in the numbers to shut off the fence. "He can't be far."

"Lady Cora!" A gruff voice yells from behind us.

I turn to find Eddard and another wolf approaching. "Eddard?"

He gallops over to my side and taps my hand with his nose. "Brandon told me about the human. Allow us to aid in your search." He nods to the wolf beside him. "This is my wife, Catelyn."

"Thank you for your help. . . again," I say.

"Is Scooby-Doo and Scrappy gonna help us sniff out the kid?" Sawyer asks.

I shoot him a look. "Yes, Sawyer. Eddard and his wife have very graciously offered to help us. You'd be wise not to anger them."

"I smell more than one human." Eddard sniffs the air, the ground, the air again. "Three humans. They smell young." He looks up at me. "They smell like fear."

"I don't know how many children there are, or if they're all together," I tell Sawyer and Juliet. "Eddard says he can smell at least three. We can cover more ground if we split up."

"I'll take werewolf number two," Sawyer says, pointing a finger at Catelyn. "You ladies can keep Mr. Testosterone."

"Do you approve of splitting up?" I ask Eddard.

"If you think it is best," he answers.

Sawyer and Catelyn head towards the left side of the jungle, while Juliet, Eddard, and I head right.

Eddard sniffs the ground. His ears perk up once, and then he returns to the scent. Juliet and I follow him into the trees. A curious bird asks his friend what we're doing, and the two birds discuss the oddities of humans.

And then Eddard stops. "Humans," he alerts in a low voice. "Many humans. They are close, lady Cora."

"_It's a wolf!_" someone screams in the distance. A popping echo bellows throughout the jungle, reverberating off the trees. A second gunshot goes off, and my head gets light.

_No, no, no, no, no!_

"Sawyer!" I scream, taking off towards the sounds. Juliet tries to grab hold of me, but the adrenaline rush is back, and I charge forward into the trees, full of fear.

I crash through a tangle of vines to find Sawyer sprawled out in the dirt, clutching desperately to his bloody shoulder. Catelyn is panting next to him in a pool of blood pouring out from her stomach.

"Oh, God. Oh, no. No, no, no," I babble.

"Hands up!" It's Ana Lucia and the gun that killed Shannon in season two. "I said put your hands up!" she screams at me. A whole group of frightened survivors are standing huddled behind her like sheep.

"Catelyn!" Eddard rushes in from behind me and stands by her side.

"Another wolf!" a women yells. "Kill it, Ana!"

Eddard emits an enraged snarl. "I'll kill you first, human!"

Juliet is tossed forward from behind me. I turn around and see Mr. Eko brandishing his scripture club. There is no escape. "Eddard," I say quickly, "get out of here! Go back and tell Todd what's happened."

"Not until I rip open this woman's throat!" he snarls.

"Think of your son," I tell him. "Think of Brandon. You're all he has left now. Go back home and tell Todd what happened before you get shot, too! Run!"

"Lady Cora—"

"THAT'S AN ORDER, EDDARD!" I scream.

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Ana asks angrily.

"Go, Eddard," I hear Catelyn whine softly. "Go."

Eddard hesitates for the briefest of moments before darting towards me, past Mr. Eko, and back into the jungle, headed towards the Barracks.

I drop down to Sawyer's side to check his wound. "Sawyer," I gasp at the sight of so much blood. It's my mother all over again.

Mr. Eko lifts me up with one arm and throws me over his shoulder. I start screaming for help, but it does me no good. I'm tossed down into a deep pit, Juliet following closely afterwards. Her shoulder makes impact with the ground first, and the cry she emits is anything but humanlike.

I crawl forward to try and help.

"My shoulder," she cries out. "It's dislocated. I need you to—"

I've already manipulated it back into place with a loud pop.

Juliet gives one final scream of pain, and then she relaxes. "Thank you," she breathes. "Thank you. How did you know what to do?"

"Once upon a time, I was going to be a nurse," I explain.

Sawyer is tossed down last. I crawl over to him.

Ana looks down at us from the edge of the pit. "Who are you?" she asks.

"Survivors of Oceanic 815," I yell. _Do they have a manifest to consult? I can't remember. If they have a manifest, we'll need names that were on it in case they want to confirm our identities. _"My name is Kate Austin, and this is Claire Littleton and James Ford. We crashed on the beach. We were scouting the area for survivors." My throat gets choked up. "You shot my dog. Where is she?"

Mr. Eko and Ana are conversing in low voices. "She's dead," Ana decides to answer. "And that wasn't a dog, that was a wolf. How'd you get a wolf on the plane?"

I look at Sawyer's sweaty face and begin to sob. "Please, he needs a doctor! Let us go, and we can take you to our doctor! He's not far from here!"

Mr. Eko tugs on the lid they've made for the pit, and I become frantic with pleas. The lid closes down on us, shutting out the light.


	16. Of Monsters and Mice and Men

I stopped screaming about the same time I stopped trying to climb my way out of this hole. A random jungle shower has softened the sides into a slippery mud slope that's impossible to climb. I plop down on the ground with a splash and let the rain drip its way through the cracks in the roof and soak right through my clothes.

Juliet sits slumped against the corner of our dark confinement, wincing while nursing her painful shoulder injury. Sawyer has regained consciousness, thankfully. He sits slumped against the opposite side of the hole. I sit in the middle, feeling more miserable with each drop of rain that drips down on me.

Sawyer begins to laugh, low and throaty.

"What's so funny?" I snap at him.

"I'm gonna die in a hole in the middle of the damn jungle." He leans back against the muddy wall and laughs harder. "I had a house and food and a working toilet just a few hours ago, and now I'm gonna die soaking wet and bleeding out in a _damn hole!_"

"Be quiet, James." Juliet scowls at him. "Your tantrum isn't helping any."

Sawyer scoops up a handful of mud and flings it at her. "How about _you_ be quiet, Snow Queen? I'm not the one who was biting at the bit to go rescue some kid!"

Juliet wipes the mud from her face. "Very mature, James," she says, annoyed. "As I recall, you were more than happy to help Cora search. We didn't make you come with us."

I bring my hand up to my ears and scream, "WOULD YOU TWO JUST _SHUT UP_?" They fall silent, so I can talk softer. "Stop wasting your energy bickering and think of a way for us to get out of here." I turn to Sawyer and study his face. He's good at hiding it, but his breathing is more labored than usual.

"Don't you cry for me," he complains. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, for God's sake, would you get over yourself?" I snap. "Juliet, what do we do about the bullet?"

"Nothing," she answers. "If you try to take it out now, it could become infected. We have to wait until we have some disinfectants."

"And when will that be?" I ask. "Who knows how crazy these people are? They've been out here for, what—how long has it been since the crash?"

"Twenty-two days," says Juliet. "I think."

_What? Have I completely lost track of time? How could it already be twenty-two days since my arrival? Maybe I lost track of time when I was delirious with my head injury. _"Twenty-two days," I echo. "These people from the tail section have been here for twenty-two days without a steady supply of food or shelter. I don't even know if they have any weapons other than Ana's handgun—speaking of which, we don't even know if it has anymore bullets in it."

"Hey," a friendly voice calls to us from between the vines in the trap door. I can just make out Libby's face in the pale light. "Are you guys hungry?"

"Let us out!" Sawyer yells. "Let us out of here, you crazy bitch!"

Libby's face disappears, and I shout, "Wait, please, come back! Come back! Great. Thanks a lot, Sawyer. That was really helpful."

The three of us fall back into silence just as the rain finally stops. I listen to the conversations of what I'm guessing are birds, but they aren't very informative.

"I can't believe this," I blurt out. "We really are going to die in a ditch."

"Ben will find us," Juliet says assuredly.

I give her an annoyed glare. "How do you know that?"

"Because you're here." She adjusts herself in her muddy seat. "After everything he's done to help you, I don't know why you even have to ask. Besides, it's only a matter of time before Eddard and the rest of the wolves show up for revenge."

I rub at my temples, guilt settling in. "I don't know why I let . . . I don't know why I . . . why do they do everything I say? It just . . . it doesn't make sense. One of them is dead now because I asked for their help."

"But you didn't ask for their help," Juliet counters kindly. "They offered help, and you accepted it. It worked out just the way it was supposed to."

Something about that sounds odd. I look up at her and ask, "What do you mean _the way it was supposed to?_"

Juliet stares at me, blankly. "You don't honestly think Goodwin—let alone _any _of us—would be sadistic enough to inflict pain upon a puppy just for teething on a stupid shoe, do you? Goodwin only did it because Ben ordered him to."

"Why?"

"The one species you need on your side are the wolves. That's apparently what you said once." Juliet leans back against the mud and tenderly tries to roll her shoulder. "Ben thought this was the quickest way for you to form a bond with them."

"Or, here's a thought, I could have just befriended them on my own," I hiss.

"We didn't have time for that. Besides, Ben wanted them to be indebted to you," she whispers. "Favors are what make our community function for both humans and animals. Everyone owes somebody else. Your word is your bond. You break it . . . well, nobody has been stupid enough to try it, yet."

I think back to that day when poor Eddard was on trial for protecting his pup, Brandon. Ben had seemed sincerely troubled about the incident, so I thought that he was. He manipulated me, and I hadn't the slightest idea.

Sawyer chuckles at the look on my face. "That son of a bitch," he says.

I sit motionless for what seems like eternity, stewing over what else that's happened. What else has been elaborately orchestrated? What else hasn't been real?

* * *

I don't remember falling asleep, but I wake up covered in mud.

"Morning, Sunshine," Sawyer crows. His face is paler than yesterday. I try to check his wound, but he won't let me near him.

The sun is shining high in the sky when I start to scream again.

"Be quiet, or I shoot," Ana threatens.

Ana Lucia. She was a cop who was shot while pregnant, which resulted in the loss of her unborn child and the start of an angry antisocial woman. If I remember correctly, she's a trigger-happy loner who never smiles and dies with an everlasting grudge. Wonderful.

"Can we at least have some food?" I yell.

"I said _be quiet_," she yells back.

I sit down in a soggy mud puddle and put my face in my hands. All I can think about is food. My stomach is clawing itself to pieces, grumbling so loudly I don't doubt Ana can hear it. I haven't eaten anything in 24 hours. I can remember the last time that happened—which is absolutely never.

One more enormous growl from my stomach, and I force myself to my feet. "You have to give us something! Please! Anything! I'll take a single slice of papaya at this point!"

I get a rock thrown at my head.

* * *

I wake up the next morning lightheaded and confused. Instead of an insatiable hunger, I now beg the skies to open wide and deliver me some water before I die of thirst. When I open my mouth to yawn, my dried up lips crack open, and warm blood drips down my cheek.

Juliet has purple rings under her flickering eyes. Sawyer is pale and sweaty and unresponsive.

No.

I refuse to die this way.

I refuse to die in a dirt hole.

In my frustration, I look up at the roof, but I can't see anyone. "Where's the little boy?" I ask loudly.

Just as I hoped, Ana has been standing nearby, listening. "What little boy?" she asks.

"I saw a little boy run into the jungle not too far from here. Have you seen him? His head was covered in blood. I don't know if it was his, though." I strain to see through the cracks in the trap door, but Ana is purposely staying out of sight. "Have you seen him?" I continue. "Is he okay?"

"How old is he?" she questions.

"He looked five or six. Blonde. In shock."

"I haven't seen him." For some reason, the way she says it makes me feel that she's telling the truth. "Is he your kid?"

"No," I answer truthfully. "I don't even know his name."

"We'll keep an eye out," she promises.

My stomach growls loudly, pinching and pulling and causing me pain. I've just realized I haven't eaten anything since the light breakfast I had before the wedding. Oh, how I wish I had gorged myself on the selection of desserts laid out before me. I'd give anything for one of those decadent cupcakes. "Hello?" I call. "Ana, are you still there?"

"What do you want?"

"Do you have any food? Water? We haven't eaten in days."

"Tell you what," she says. The trap door is pulled up, shining light down at us. The three of us shield our eyes. "You come up here and answer all my questions, and then you can have some of our food and water. Deal?"

"Don't, Cora." Sawyer reaches out and grabs hold of my arm in a weak grip. "We stay together."

"It's a bad idea," Juliet confirms.

"I'll do it," I say. _If I die, I die. We're dying in this hole already. How else are we going to get out of here?_

Someone tosses down a vine rope, and I cling weakly to it as I'm hoisted up into the sunlight. Mr. Eko grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me the remainder of the way up.

Ana is quick to tie me to a tree.

"What was your name again?" she asks, giving the vine rope around my waist one final tight tug.

"Kate Austin," I say. "Do you have a manifest you can confirm?"

"No," she says.

_Well, then. What a waste of a perfectly good lie. Now I'm going to have to pretend like my name is Kate. Or . . ._ "I go by my middle name, though. Cora."

"Right," Ana says, searching my eyes for something. "So, Cora, who are your two friends?"

_Since I've already lied about Juliet's name, I go along with my lie._ "Claire Littleton and James Ford. We were all survivors of Oceanic 815. We crashed on the beach and made camp there."

"How far from here?"

"About a day's walk," I lie. I have no idea what I'm talking about. "We can take you there. Please," I beg, "James needs a doctor. We have a doctor. Jack Shephard. He can help any of your people if they're hurt."

I watch as Libby approaches Ana from behind. "Let's go, Ana," she says softly. "Paul needs a doctor, too."

"Back up," Ana warns. "We're not going anywhere until I get answers."

"I'm so thirsty." My head lolls forward. "Can I please have some water?"

Ana pulls out a canteen, and I lean my head towards it in anticipation. She takes a long guzzle, and then she places it at her feet, just out of my reach.

_You are so not one of my favorite characters._

Two children, a little boy and a little girl, huddle behind Libby. "You guys have children?" I ask in dazed amazement. "Are they the only two?"

"Do you always conduct search parties without bringing supplies?" Ana asks, ignoring my question.

"What?"

"Why didn't you bring anything with you to go searching for the kid," she says slowly, the way you would speak to a child. "You just told me your camp is about a day away from here. Why would you go on such a long excursion without bringing supplies? Water? Food? A tarp?"

_Think, think, think. _I stare at the canteen and drift off into thoughts of gulping cool water and eating as many papayas as I can find.

"How did you get two wolves on our flight?" she prods.

Oh, no. My dehydrated brain is frazzled, and it's only becoming more frazzled now that Mr. Eko is standing so close. He looks murderous, pounding the wooden scripture club unto the palm of his hand.

Ana leans in close. "Why are you lying to us?"

"I'm not," I lie pathetically.

"Who are you really?" Ana asks forcefully. "Who are you?"

I close my eyes in fear when she pulls out her gun and places the cold metal against my forehead.

"Ana, stop it!" I hear Libby yell.

Once my eyes are close, something dawns on me. "Why is it so quiet?" I say to myself, opening my eyes out of curiosity.

"What?" Ana asks, pulling the gun away and looking around.

The birds—the same birds that are _always _gathered in the trees overhead, laughing and talking and gossiping galore—are now completely silent. I don't even hear bugs whizzing in the distance. I don't hear anything but my own breath.

Right when I understand what this might possibly mean, it happens. A mechanical roar echoes somewhere in the distance, and my body begins to shiver because I'm too dehydrated to break out in a sweat.

I always thought it was funny that the smoke monster sounded like a roller-coaster ascending on a track, but now nothing has ever been less funny.

"Untie me," I beg, panicked, thrashing at my constraints. "For the love of God, please untie me!"

Ana looks around in complete confusion. "What was that?" she asks, aiming her gun in the direction of the noise.

One second she's standing in front of me, and the next second she's flying through the sky as splintered wood rains down on my head. I scream and shut my eyes so tight I see purple.

Horrible, horrible noises continue for the next thirty seconds. Trees are split in two, uprooted from the earth and crashing down hard all around me. I can hear people screaming over the roar of the monster. I keep my eyes closed while I tremble, helpless to even run away.

I crack my eyes open when the noises stop, and the low rumbling of the smoke monster is instantly inches from my face. In its mass I see snippets of my life—none of them pleasant—but for some reason I cannot look away. There's a series of blinding white flashes, and then the monster retreats into the trees with one final roar.

"Cora?" Sawyer's worried voice wafts up from out of the hole. "Cora? Cora, where are you?"

"I'm okay!" My voice crackles with laughter. "I'm alive!"

"What happened?" he yells. "Where are you?"

"I'm tied to a tree!" Just as I yell this, a little brown field mouse goes running full speed in front of me. "Excuse me, miss? Miss! Little mouse!" Thankfully, the mouse pauses and looks at me. "Please, I beg you. Can you chew away at these vines? I will be forever indebted to you! I promise you any favor you wish! _Please_!"

"Why should I trust you?" she squeaks, already resuming her run.

"My name is Cora," I tell her, "and I am the island's Animal Ambassador. I'm in charge of keeping the peace for all animals, no matter how small."

"A human who speaks mouse?" She scurries over and climbs onto my leg, seeking shelter in my shirt pocket. "My babies are hiding nearby. We have been traveling for days in search of food. That monster in the sky just uprooted our temporary home, and now I'm searching for a new one. There are so many birds watching us it is hard to travel safely. If I free you, please help my babies find a place to stay. Somewhere with food. We haven't eaten in so long!"

"If you free me, I'll let you all travel in my pockets back to my home. You can have all the food you can eat!"

The little mouse sniffs at my clothes—well, Ben's clothes—and says, "You have a deal."

"Thank you Miss, uh, what's your name?"

"Mrs. Brisby," she squeaks, and leaps out of my pocket.

"Of course it is," I say. "I should have seen that coming."

Mrs. Brisby nibbles away at the vines, stopping every few seconds to look around for birds. "I'll keep an eye out for you," I tell her.

It's slow going—very slow going—but eventually the vines are weakened enough for me to pull the rest of them off by myself. 'Thank you," I say, scooping up Mrs. Brisby and depositing her in my pocket. "Where are your babies hiding?"

I seek out the rock Mrs. Brisby guides me to, but when I lift it up, the baby mice take one look at me and start fleeing in every direction.

"No!" Mrs. Brisby shrieks. "Come back, my babies! It's me!"

I try to grab one, and it bites me. "Ow!" I yell.

"Don't bite!" Mrs. Brisby cries. "Children, please! The human is going to bring us to shelter! Come back, or you will be eaten! Remember papa!"

One by one, the frightened mice return, sniff my fingers, and then hop into my hand. I add them, a total of four little brown puffs, to my shirt pocket with their mother. I stumble back to the pit where Juliet and Sawyer are still trapped, but the lid is too heavy for me to lift on my own, and I only succeed in shifting it slightly. "I'll look for something to pull you out with!" I tell them.

"Hurry!" Juliet yells. "Before that thing comes back!"

But I have a feeling the smoke monster is done with us for today. It let me live. That has to mean something.

Ana's canteen is still sitting, untouched, next to where I was tied up. I fall to my feet and gulp it greedily. Thankfully, I have enough sense to stop myself before I completely finish it off, and I toss the remainder down to Sawyer and Juliet.

"Who is papa?" I ask Mrs. Brisby as I search for the vine rope Ana Lucia used to pull me out of the pit with.

"My husband. He was eaten by a bird," she weeps in a string of untranslatable squeaks. "Along with all my other children! I had ten little ones. Now only four remain."

A tiny nose peaks out of my pocket and one of the babies squeaks, "Are you really going to bring us food?"

"I am." They cheer, and I can't help but smile. "What are your names?"

"Cynthia," she says.

"And I'm Martin," says another.

"And I'm Timothy," says another.

"And I'm Teresa," says another. "I'm sorry I bit you earlier."

Somewhere close by a woman is moaning in pain. I set off in search of the sound, and I stumble upon the remains of Ana Lucia. I bring a hand up to my mouth, almost falling backwards at the sight of her. Her face is streaked with blood, and there's a long jagged piece of splintered wood sticking out of her chest. I kneel beside her and my hands hover over her injuries, not sure what to do or where to even start.

Ana's mouth opens to say something, but instead she coughs up a mouthful of blood. Her pleading eyes lock with mine, and something in them begs me not to leave, so I hold her hand. It takes forever and no time at all for her to die. She never looks away from me—not even after she sighs a final gust of air and her eyes gloss over with death.

I've never seen a human die before. I've seen pain and suffering enough to last me a lifetime, but I've never seen death.

I close her eyes before I leave.

"I am sorry about the human," Mrs. Brisby apologizes.

"Me too," I say, feeling sick.

"You are talking to a mouse," Mr. Eko's deep voice booms.

I spin around and place a protective hand over my pocket. I'm not entirely sure if it's a question or not. "Yes?" I answer. "Where are the rest of your people?"

"Gone," he answers.

"Oh." I don't know what else to say.

"I will help get your friends out of the pit," he states in his thick Nigerian accent. Without another word, he heads towards the pit.

I don't know what just happened, so I follow behind him.

True to his word, Mr. Eko throws back the lid with one arm and checks to make sure Juliet and Sawyer are still inside. "Give me just a moment," he says. "I will make a rope to pull you out." Mr. Eko beckons for me to follow him, but I don't think the choice is actually mine.

When we've found a tree with strong enough vines, Mr. Eko pulls a blade out from his waistband, and I take a step back as he saws away. "I'd like to have a word with you," he says.

"Okay."

"The first day on the beach, I was dragged into the jungle by two men." One of the vines snaps free, and he tosses it aside. "I killed these men. Smashed in their heads with a stone. Felt their blood on my arms."

He's so calm and serious that I don't know how to respond. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You lied to Ana. You are one of them, no?" he asks.

I don't bother denying it.

"I want you to know how deeply sorry I am about killing your people," he continues. "I want you to know that I am on a righteous path now." Mr. Eko tosses the last of the vines in a pile at his feet. He turns to me with the knife, reaches up to his chin, and slices off the two little beard braids.

"Are we in danger?" Mrs. Brisby asks from inside my pocket. "Your heartbeat has quickened."

But Mr. Eko has already sheathed his knife and is dragging the thick vines back to the pit.

Juliet is first to be hoisted up out of the pit. When Sawyer comes crawling up, he's almost too weak to stand. Mr. Eko throws him over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Sawyer is less than thrilled. "Which way to your camp?" Mr. Eko asks.

I glance at Juliet for directions, but she's busy gaping at Mr. Eko. I nudge her in the ribs. "This way," she answers vaguely and takes off into the trees.

"Wait," I call to her, and she stops. "The children that were here. They may be near. I want to bring the survivors back with us."

Mr. Eko, who has the loudest voice in the group by a long shot, and who also knows both children by name, shouts for them. "Hello? Emma! Zach! Where are you? Can anyone hear me?"

By the fifth round of yelling, Juliet is ready to leave, but then suddenly a little boy, Zach, wanders towards us from out of the jungle. He's followed closely by a little girl, Emma, and one of the stewardesses from the plane. _Oh, I know her name. I know it!_ But I keep it to myself and allow them to introduce themselves—Cindy, Zach, and Emma.

We're a lot farther out than I originally thought. I thought we had only gone a quarter of a mile or so from the Barracks, but we walk for a good four hours.

"How much farther to your camp?" Cindy asks. She has her arms draped over the children, keeping them close.

_This place looks familiar._ "Where's Catelyn?" Blood is still splattered on the mossy floor, so I know this is where she was shot. "Where is her body?" My search of the surrounding area proves barren, and I begin to panic. "I need her body. The wolves will want it buried. They're going to be furious if something dragged her away!"

Juliet continues on without us. She's been especially quiet ever since the smoke monster attack. I wonder if this was the first time she's ever encountered it, or even heard of it at all. I have no choice but to follow her back to the fence.

* * *

Everyone is frantic when we return. _I can't leave for 24 hours without everything going to Hell. _It isn't long before someone explains what's going on.

Harper approaches me, never even glancing at Juliet. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Trapped in a ditch," I answer.

She catches sight of Mr. Eko and widens her eyes. "Who is this?"

"The name's Sawyer," Sawyer says from atop Mr. Eko's shoulder. "I believe we've met."

"Another survivor," I tell Harper. "What's going on?"

"Goodwin is dead," she says flatly.

I hear Juliet gasp beside me, and then she pushes past us and disappears into the crowd.

"What happened?" I ask.

Harper glares at Juliet's retreating figure. "The one they call Sayid happened."

"But . . . _what_?" I splutter. _He was unarmed and handcuffed to a window!_

"I wasn't there, but Goodwin was scheduled to keep guard during lunch. He moved too close during feeding time. Got his neck snapped," Harper sneers. "They're animals—the whole lot of them. The only one even remotely useful to us is Jack, and he refuses to speak. But it doesn't matter," she adds with an air of satisfaction. "Sayid is scheduled for execution tomorrow morning. It will only be a matter of time before the rest will follow."

"Where is she?" Ben's angry voice yells from somewhere behind me.

I spin around and practically slam into him. He takes a hasty step back and glowers. Then he notices it's me.

I had forgotten I was covered in mud.

"You're alive." His hand travels up to touch my face, but he pulls away at the last second. "Why are you filthy? And—" He cranes his neck to look at Mr. Eko, who still has Sawyer draped over his shoulder. "—who is this?"

"My name is Mr. Eko."

"It's a long story," I say.

"I look forward to your explanation, but for now we simply don't have time for long stories." Ben's tone grows serious again. "Where is Juliet?"

"She went over there." I point at the crowd. Ben takes off with a fierce determination, so I reach out and grab his arm. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Cora, go home and take a nice hot shower." He tugs his arm out of my grasp.

* * *

Ben made tea to—and I quote—calm his nerves after hearing my retelling of what happened, but it doesn't seem to be working. He takes a sip and brings the cup down too hard, and it clacks against the glass plate. After about ten minutes of him sipping and clacking, sipping and clacking, silently formulating some kind of plan, he decides to speak. "The wolves are missing."

_Oh great. _"Where did they go?"

"If I knew the answer to that," he says sarcastically, "I wouldn't be drinking tea, now would I?"

"Sorry," I mumble.

Mrs. Brisby and her four children are happily nibbling away on a slice of bread, a dollop of peanut butter, and a grape. I've also set a warm bowl of water on the floor so they can bathe. Every once in a while one of the babies gives me a tiny squeak of gratitude before returning to the task of stuffing its face. I wonder how long it has been since they've eaten.

Ben made me a sandwich when he returned from verbally scorning Juliet for allowing me to go beyond the fence without his permission. I would have tried to make light of the situation by telling him a sexist joke about the sandwich, but he was too angry to chance it.

Ethan has been working on cleaning out and treating Sawyer's wound. He says he will make a full recovery, but it still makes me sick with worry. So sick, in fact, that even after not eating for over 24 hours, a sandwich was all I could stomach.

Ben lets out an annoyed sigh. "None of this is turning out the way you said it would."

_Curse my future self for being such an incompetent Timelord. _"What are you going to do about Mr. Eko?"

"He may stay here until I can arrange for him to be released back beyond the fence to find his people."

"Why can't he stay here permanently?"

Sip, clank. "Pardon?"

"I said why can't he stay? He saved Juliet and Sawyer's life when I couldn't. That has to count for something."

"Yes, and he's also a complete stranger who has been wandering around the jungle for almost a month." Sip, clank. "I'm not betting on his mental stability."

"Okay," I relent, "so Mr. Eko has to leave. What about the rest of your prisoners? What are you going to do with them?"

"I'm still deliberating."

_Wait a second._ "But . . . weren't their names on a list? The lists you get from Jacob?"

Ben doesn't even bother to ask how I know that. "The only name I've ever received from Jacob was yours." Ben brings the teacup up to his mouth, looking pensive. "Which at first confused me to no end. You being dead and all."

_What? That can't be right. There were tons of characters from the crash that were on Jacob's list. Jack. Kate. Hugo. Locke. Sun and Jin. Tons of characters! _"Nobody else? Nobody? Nobody from Oceanic 815? _Nobody?_"

"If you believe asking the same question multiple times will yield a different answer, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

_Not even Hugo? Hugo is supposed to inherit the island. Become the new leader. The new Jacob! Who is supposed to be the new Jacob?_

_ It can't be me. I'm supposed to die._

I'm almost too afraid to ask. "What are you going to do with Sayid?"

Ben raises an eyebrow at me. "You look like you have a suggestion."

"Let Sayid leave. Let him go home on the submarine. You can let Juliet leave at the same time, and then everyone is happy and no one is dead!"

"I can tell you right now that's not going to happen. I've already decided what to do with them. I've sent out a scout to locate the rest of the survivors from the beach. Once their location has been confirmed, they will be reunited."

My eyes narrow at this information. "You just told me you were still deliberating."

"Ahhh," he stammers, "yes, well. That wasn't . . . entirely true. My apologies."

"You're bringing the rest of the survivors here?" _The more people protected by the fence, the better._

"Of course not," he says. "They will be free to leave and reunite themselves."

"You're _banishing_ them?" I leap up from my seat on the sofa. "You can't do that! They'll die out there!"

Ben looks up at me with a curious expression. "Why do you feel the need to defend them when they obviously have no attachment to you?"

_Because I know what they're really like. I know their temperaments even better than they do. Because all of this is partially your fault. Because they're human beings, and I don't want them to die!_ "You're infuriating!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I've made my decision."

"Get your backpack," I order, turning away to retrieve my own.

"For what?" he questions, already halfway out of his seat.

"I'm sick of this. Nobody is going to die due to lack of communication. Not on my watch!" I begin throwing food at random into my bag.

Ben trails closely behind me over to the kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

"We're going to have a nice long chat with Jacob," I say furiously. "That asshole has a lot of explaining to do."


	17. Don't Mess With Smaug

_DHARMA, 1974_

_ Our classroom is my sanctuary. It's the one place I can go without fear of being bullied. I've been the target of Doug and his gang of brainless followers since I first moved here. Recently they've even started picking on Annie just because she's my friend. They knock books out of her hands and steal the homework out of her binder._

_ Miss Collins found out and spent an entire class period poking relentlessly at Doug's forehead while asking him if he was annoyed—poking even harder if he answered "yes"._

_ Now they hate me even more, but they're too afraid to do anything about it._

_ It's easiest to spend my days here, after the school day has ended. The room is peaceful, deserted. Best of all, I don't have to worry about my father. There are some things worse than school bullies._

_ Miss Collins noticed the bruises on my arms today during class, but she thankfully never asked where they came from. I don't think I'd be able to admit that I got them for accidently dropping my dad's uniform on the floor while trying to fold it. I was sweaty with fear that Miss Collins would make a big deal about it, but she just gave me one of her sad smiles, ruffled my hair, and wandered off to poke Doug's forehead some more._

_ I like Miss Collins, and not just because she tells interesting stories or bakes the class cookies or gives us presents all the time. She takes special effort to know everything about us. She's interested in our hopes and dreams and aspirations for the future. She protects all of us equally—even Doug—from whatever it is that's troubling us._

_ It also doesn't hurt that Annie and I are her favorite students._

_ Annie's crazy about Miss Collins, too. Especially because they both share a love of animals. Miss Collins is almost as protective of the island's wildlife as she is of us. She's constantly bringing in new animals for us to interact with. But with some of the bigger ones—like Shadowfax the horse—we have to hold class outside._

_It was then that I first realized just how beautiful she is._

_ We were standing around outside, listening to a lecture about the history of horses, when I looked up at Miss Collins right when the sun hit the back of her head. Her hair burst with a shimmering golden glow that almost blinded me, but I couldn't close my eyes. For a moment, she looked like an angel. Now I can't look at her for very long or my face burns._

_ I've heard some of the other boys in my class talk about how they would find her attractive if she were thinner, but they only say that because their father's do. I've heard it whispered among men all throughout the community. But thankfully Miss Collins doesn't seem to care what anyone says. One time a member of security asked her out on a date as a dare, and she dumped her cup of soup on his head._

_I hadn't even noticed that she was bigger than all the other women until they brought it up. I don't understand. If anything, it only makes her better because she gives the most comforting hugs in the world._

_ The doorknob squeaks and jiggles. I jump up from my seat on the floor and panic. Where to hide? Where to hide? Nobody ever comes in here at this time of day!_

_ I leap towards the little pushcart where we hang up the dark green Survey Corps cloaks Miss Collins made for when we go on "outdoor excursions". Nestling myself deep within the cloaks, I hold my breath as a janitor walks in, wheeling a mop bucket in front of him._

_ Dad._

_ "What the hell?" he mumbles, looking around the classroom in disgust. Miss Collins makes us move our desks to the outer rim of the classroom. She wants everyone to interact with each other, and it also makes it easier for her to bring animals in for us to play with. My favorite is Prince Humperdinck, our class pet rabbit. He shed a lot today, and now his pure white fur rolls around in little fluffy tumbleweeds._

_ My dad churns the mop in the sudsy bucket and prepares to clean the floor. I hunker down deeper into the cloaks and pray that he doesn't move this pushcart to clean behind it._

_ The door opens again, and I hear a welcoming voice. "Oh, Roger," says Miss Collins. "I didn't know you were in here."_

_ "Huh?" Dad turns to look at her, and that expression crosses over his features—the one he uses when he doesn't want to talk to someone but is trying very hard not to be rude. "Oh, hello, teach."_

_ "It's Miss Collins, if you don't mind."_

_ "Yeah," he says. "Okay."_

_ "Your son is in my class," she says. "Actually, since you're here, I figure we can discuss him."_

_ "Yeah?" my dad snaps at her. "What's he done now?"_

_ "Done? Oh, no, no. He's one of my best students. Very curious. Very eager to learn. His brain is like a sponge. It's fascinating."_

_ "Huh," my dad laughs. "You sure we're talking about the same kid?"_

_ Even from my hiding spot I can see Miss Collins' lips twitch in a losing fight to keep smiling. It's as if her cheerful glow is slowly draining away, and in its place is something terrifying. She stares at my father for an uncomfortable amount of time._

_"I'm sorry, do you need something?" my dad asks, sounding annoyed._

_"Do you know anything about dragons, Roger?"_

_"Do I know about what?"_

_"Dragons," she repeats. "Mythical creatures of unparalleled power. They are most famous for hording and defending treasure." Miss Collins straightens up, and even though she's still shorter than my dad, she looks scarier than he does. "I am Smaug, Mr. Linus, and my students are my treasure. As such, I will do what is necessary to protect them from harm."_

_My dad shakes his head and starts to mop the floor. "You've got a few screws loose, don't you?" he scoffs. "You sure you should be teaching kids?"_

_Miss Collins whips an arm out and yanks the mop away. "I don't think you understand me, Roger," she states in a low voice. "If you ever lay a hand on any of my students again . . . any of them . . . things will not end pleasantly for you."_

_"What I do with my kid is none of your business." My dad doesn't look afraid, but then again he's never been the brightest crayon in the box, as Miss Collins always says. "I'm sure Horace would love to hear about this."_

_Miss Collins smiles. "Now, think about that for a moment, Roger. Who do you think anyone is going to believe? The island drunk, or the poor little school teacher who enjoys knitting and baking and hosting class outdoors?" Miss Collins circles my father like a lion before the kill. "We all have rules we must follow, even if they are unspoken. For example, you're not allowed to hit me."_

_"I've never touched you," my father sneers._

_Without warning, Miss Collins lashes out and strikes her own face. "Ow! Why would you do that? I'm going to have to call security and have you escorted out!"_

_My dad starts backing away, his hands out, palms up. "Holy shit, you're insane!"_

_In the blink of an eye, Miss Collins knocks my father off his feet with his own mop. He tries to stand back up, but she stomps a foot down hard on his chest to pin him. "Oh, my dear," she tells him, "you have no idea." Miss Collins stares down at my father with such intense loathing that it almost makes me afraid for him. She leans in and whispers, "If I ever find bruises on one of my students again, I will break every last bone in your pathetic little frame."_

_My father finally has the sense to look afraid. "Is that a threat?"_

_"No, Roger," she says, dropping the mop down beside him. "That is a promise. I hope we have an understanding. I'm not one to repeat myself." She removes her foot, walks back to the classroom door, and throws it wide open. "Now," she says with a cheerful smile, "get the hell out of my classroom and never step a foot in here again. I'm quite capable of cleaning it myself."_

_I've never seen my dad move faster. He wheels his mop bucket so hastily water sloshes out all over the floor. The door clicks shut behind him, and the classroom falls dead silent._

_Before I can decide whether or not to reveal myself, Miss Collins speaks._

_"It's alright, Ben. You can come out now."_

* * *

Before seeing Jacob, Ben informs me of a sacred gathering we must both attend.

Goodwin's midnight funeral gives me uncomfortable goosebumps. Someone has dressed him all in white and decorated a wooden raft with island flowers. The attendees are required to wear white linin clothes, so we all look like a bunch of ghosts.

Harper stands at the front of the group, near the ocean's edge, dry-eyed and solemn. Juliet stands back near the treeline, fighting to keep her crying inaudible.

I don't like any of this. It's making me miserable to see so many people miserable. I don't like death. Ana has convinced me of that.

Ben made Jack, Kate, Locke, and Sayid attend. They stand huddled together, an awkward, out of place group guarded at gunpoint. 17 gunpoints, to be exact. A little excessive if you ask me, but then again, no one did.

I was able to spare Sayid's life for one more day. I made Ben promise not to let anything happen to him until we return tomorrow from our visit with Jacob.

I turn to leave before the raft is lit.

"You must stay," Ben informs me.

I open my mouth to protest, but the look he gives me makes me stop. _Alright, alright. Follow the customs. _So I stay, I just don't watch. I turn to the side and stare at the sand.

I brought Mrs. Brisby and her children with me. I don't feel safe leaving them alone. There are far too many things ready and willing to eat them, and I haven't secured them a home yet. Ben says I can keep my original copy of _The Hobbit _in a special glass case he has, and the mice can take over the shoebox.

One of their little whiskered noses tickles in-between my fingers, and I giggle without even thinking. A woman standing near me turns around with a look of horror and disgust.

"I laugh when I'm upset," I tell her. When she turns back around, I bring my cupped hands up to my mouth. "Stop tickling me," I whisper.

"I'm cold!" Cynthia squeaks.

"Me too!" Timothy chips in.

All of the children break out into a choir of high-pitched complaints that win me uncomfortable glances from everyone nearby. I don't know how long this funeral will continue on for, but I think I have a solution for the little ones.

"Ben?"

He glances at me and brings a finger up to his lips.

"Really quick," I whisper, "can you stand in front of me?"

Thankfully, he does as I ask without question. I turn around and bring the mice up to my mouth. "Absolutely _no _clawing or biting. Understood?" When they give me their word, I reach down into my shirt and stuff them in my bra. "Are you warm now?"

"Oh, yes. Thanks," they squeak in unison.

I turn back around and pretend to watch the rest of the funeral. Somebody had the bright idea to play a sappy song over the loudspeakers positioned near the shoreline. My eyes travel over the beach, eventually landing on the survivors. Jack, Kate and Sayid are engrossed in the funeral, or at least they're pretending to be. Locke, however, is observing me.

Again.

* * *

Ben has promised to take me to the statue in the morning. The emotions from today have exhausted me. Mrs. Brisby and her babies are placed in the tissue-filled shoebox and set on the nightstand next to Ben's bed. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. I'm too tired to even care that I kicked Ben out of his own room.

* * *

I wake up in the middle of the night, paralyzed. I know I'm awake, but I cannot physically move a muscle. Sweat pools on my forehead and trails down into my eyes, but I cannot even reach up and wipe it away. It sizzles and stings no matter how much I try to blink away the pain.

I've kicked all the blankets off me in my struggle to wake up.

I cannot remember what my nightmare was about.

* * *

Ben cracks his spine for the twelfth time. "You weren't kidding about that couch."

As we trek through the jungle towards the foot statue, Ben explains the multiple laws that govern the community. I try my best to retain it all while running on only a few hours of sleep. I had no idea it was against the law to convince horses they can fly.

The more you know.

We pass by a large grassy field, and a spark of memory resurfaces. This place looks familiar. Something important happened in the show on the little hilltop next to us. Why does it look so familiar? And then it hits me.

_This is where Goodwin was supposed to die. This is where Ana Lucia was supposed to stab him in the chest with a spear. Instead, she was the one who died from impalement._

_ And yet Goodwin still ended up dead._

"That reminds me," I say aloud and jog in front of Ben so he has to look at me. "I thought we had a deal."

"Pardon?"

"You said you wouldn't lie to me," I accuse. "I specifically asked you not to lie to me. You're free to lie to anyone on this island, but not me, and you broke your promise."

Ben dismissively furrows his eyebrows and tries to walk around me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I grab hold of his shoulder and swing him back around. "You lied to me about Goodwin. You made me believe he was some psychopath, when really _you're_ the one who told him to shock Brandon. What the hell is wrong with you?" Ben tries to make up an excuse, but I interrupt him. "You're doing it again! There's no point in lying to me. Juliet already told me everything."

"I . . . I apologize."

"You abandoned me the day we went to find Pumba's mother, didn't you? You took off and left me alone in the jungle for no reason, and then pretended to be ecstatic when Todd found me hours later. Didn't you?"

"You needed to learn your way around. Todd and I were keeping watch over you the entire time," he assures me.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"We can discuss this later." Ben quickens his pace, and I have to semi-jog to keep up with him. "If we don't keep our pace, we'll never make it to the beach and back by nightfall."

"Oh, you want to play _that_ game, do you? Fine. We can speed up, but we're still going to discuss this _now_. You lied to me about Goodwin. You lied about abandoning me in the jungle. What else have you lied to me about? Are you really planning on releasing my friends from the beach? Or are you going to kill them off, too?" _I should have apologized to Goodwin, and now I'll never get the chance._

"Cora, I'm not going to talk to you if you're going to throw a tantrum."

"_What?_" Ben breaks promises, resulting in deaths and my everlasting confusion, and he has the balls to try and turn this around like it's _my _fault? "I'll show you a tantrum." He turns around at my words just as I storm up behind him and shove him with all my might. I only meant to shove him. I didn't mean for him to stumble backwards and fall tumbling wildly down the side of a steep hill, sliding awkwardly onto his back.

Ben sits up, inspects his arm, and looks up at me blankly. "You injured me."

"Let's get one thing straight." I frown down at him as I begin the descent down the grassy hillside. "You said this marriage was supposed to be a permanent friendship. Well, guess what? Friends don't lie to their friends."

"I think you just broke my arm," he says in disbelief.

"Stop evading the fact that you've continuously lied to me, and continue to do so!"

"I was only trying to—"

"_Does it look like I care what your excuse is?"_

"It was a lapse of judgment on my part," he admits, rubbing at his arm. "And I'm sorry. Honestly. I won't do it again."

I throw my head back and bark a laugh. "And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Have you never lied before?" he rebukes hastily. "I apologize for my past actions, and I swear from now on that I will tell you only the truth."

I continue jogging without him, but it's not long before we're side by side again. "Is your arm okay?" I ask. _Why is it I always feel guilty too late?_

"I'll live," Ben returns in a clipped, quiet tone.

Neither of us speaks again until I catch sight of the foot statue in the distance.

I stop for a moment to catch my breath. _Wow. My stamina has greatly improved._ I jogged the majority of the way here, and although I may be dripping with sweat, and my legs are sore from lactic acid buildup, at least I don't feel like I'm going to die.

We walk across the beach, towards the shoreline and the enormous foot statue. I walk right up to where the door is and pound my fist against the stone. "Open this foot! I know you're in there!"

"How do you know he's in there?" Ben asks.

"I don't. He might be wandering around. But I know he _lives_ here." I start to pound my fists again. "Jacob? Open this foot! I want to talk to you!"

Nothing.

I give the stone door a swift kick, and then I sit down right outside and toss my backpack in the sand in front of me. "I can wait all day!" I yell.

I scoot over so Ben can have a seat, but he stands alone and ignores me. After about an hour, I'm ready to eat all the food in my backpack.

Ben sighs. "I feared this wouldn't work."

"What?"

"Jacob is not someone you summon. He summons you."

"Oh, ho, ho. Isn't that just a marvelous one-sided relationship? And you still don't believe me when I say he's a total—_Look!_" I leap up and point towards the trees. "_It's the kid!_"

The little blond boy is standing in the treeline, staring at us. The blood that was dripping down his head has been washed away either by his own doing or an island rainstorm. His clothes are dirty and saggy on his tiny little frame.

I approach with caution. "What's your name?" He doesn't immediately run away, so I take a few more steps forward. "Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?"

He points at my backpack, so I tug it off and show it to him. The little boy rips it out of my hands and breaks off into a sprint.

"_HEY!_" I chase after him, momentarily forgetting about Jacob and his stupid mysteries. The kid is fast for one so small. Even with the extra weight of my backpack, he keeps a good lead. He's no match for Ben though, who scoops up the boy with his good arm and pulls the backpack away with the other.

Once the backpack has been pried from his fingers, the little boy emits a horrid shriek. "EEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEE!" Then he bites down hard on Ben's arm.

"Cora," Ben orders through clenched teeth, "please pry his jaw open and free me. He's drawing blood."

I try to calm him down, but the boy is frantic and ends up kicking me in the shin.

And then I notice it. The silence.

A thundering roar rumbles in the distance. "Oh, no," I whisper. "Not again." But the terrifying sound doesn't seem to faze the little boy, who continues to thrash in my arms. The monster comes crashing through the trees, and the little boy finally decides to cling to me with fear.

Ben pulls me in front of him. "Run!"

"No shit, Sherlock!" I hold the boy to my chest and head deep into the jungle.

"In here!" Ben pulls me to the side of a hill. I have no idea what he's doing until he rips away a layer of vines to reveal a door with an enormous Dharma logo embedded in it. Once we're inside, Ben pulls the heavy metal door shut, and there is nothing but darkness. "Cora," he wheezes, "are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm okay."

"And the piranha child?"

The boy still clings to me, his arms wrapped around my neck and his legs wrapped around my hips, like a little monkey. The poor thing is trembling with all his might. "He's fine. What about you?"

"I'd be a lot better if we had some light." I hear Ben messing with something. There's a squeak of a hinge, a clank, and then a beam of light shoots through the darkness and lands on my face.

"Thank you for blinding me," I say, squinting. "I appreciate it."

Ben moves the flashlight down towards the floor and apologizes. "I think it's gone," he says. "We should leave."

"Leave? You're kidding, right? I'm not leaving for a good hour or two. I prefer life, thank you very much." I hike the boy higher on my hip. "Can we at least rest for a while? Please? I'm exhausted. It's not everyday I have to literally run for my life."

Ben studies me a moment, and then relents. "Half an hours rest, and then we leave." He shines the flashlight onto a little metal box on the side of the wall and pulls up on a switch. A pale light illuminates the darkness.

I follow him down a flight of stairs into a cold, poorly lit hallway. Yellowed overhead lamps crackle and flicker with the effort to light up the station.

I remember this was the station where Claire was kidnapped and taken to operate on, but that never happened in this reality.

Reality.

Hm.

I guess I've started to accept whatever this life is as reality.

Ben walks down the eerie hallway and opens a door. Inside are a dusty crib, a rocking chair, and a small cot. I sit the trembling boy down on the cot and hold his face in my hands so he has to look at me.

"What is your name?" I ask. His eyes travel down to stare at my mouth. "Can you hear me?" His eyes stay glued to my mouth, but he never says a word. "Ben . . . I think he's deaf." I don't speak sign language, but over the years, out of boredom and curiosity, I did learn some _very _basic phrases. I sign '_My name is Cora. Nice to meet you.'_

The boy perks up, his dead eyes lighting with acknowledgement, and he starts signing at the speed of light.

"Oh, sweetheart I . . . I'm sorry, I don't understand you." I feel horrible. "Ben, do you speak sign language?"

"Only superficially." He watches the little boy tell us something. "I believe he said "friend" and "help". I'll ask him to repeat." The little boy signs again, and Ben nods. "He says he has a friend who needs help."

"Where is your friend?" I ask slowly while the boy tries to read my lips.

He hops off the cot and makes a break for the door.

"No, no, no, sit back down." I smooth out his hair and smile. "You can show us where they are in a little bit, okay?"

He signs something, but I don't need to look at Ben for interpretation. The sign is pretty self-explanatory. "The monster is gone, sweetheart. It's okay."

The boy blinks, and then he buries himself back into my middle. I soothe a comforting hand over his boney shoulders. "Here," I unzip my backpack and hold out a granola bar, "are you hungry?"

The boy scarfs it down and digs around in my bag for more food. I'm grateful I didn't eat it all while waiting around for Jacob to show up.

Ben takes a seat next to us on the cot. I watch him rub at his arm.

"Can I see?" I ask.

"You're not a doctor," he states vacantly.

"Aye, aye, Capitan Obvious."

"Planning on snapping it in two and finishing the job?"

"May I see your arm, Ben?"

Hesitantly, he scoots closer. I place a hand on his wrist, another at the top of his shoulder, and gently extend his arm. I listen as he gives the slightest sharp intake of air when I get halfway—the only indication of a wince. _Oh, great._

"I better not have broken your arm."

He scoots away. "Looks like I'll be spending some more time in the x-ray department. You enjoy sending me there."

A swelling lump forms in the back of my throat. _I'm not a violent person. I'm not. Why am I acting like this?_ In a desk drawer near some lockers, I find a roll of gauze. Ben allows me to clean the bite wound and wrap it up. After I've finished tying the gauze in place, I find myself unable to let go of him. "I am truly, very sorry about hurting you. I'm never violent."

"And I never lie," he retorts.

"Eeeeeee." The little boy pulls at my shirt and shows me the backpack is almost empty.

"Holy, moley. You were hungry, weren't you, little guy?" Everything has been eaten except for three granola bars, a papaya, and a bag of pretzels. "Saving these for your friends?"

He stares at my lips, and then nods.

"We should head out," Ben suggests.

"We need you to show us where your friends are," I say. "Hm. I don't know your name. Can you spell your name?"

He signs _D-A-R-C-Y._

I lift him up and smooch his cheek against mine. "As if you couldn't get anymore adorable."

* * *

Darcy leads us along, his tiny clammy hand in my own.

We end up at the mouth of an ominous, pitch-black cave.

"Cora?"

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice. "Todd! What are you doing here?"

"Hurry," he says. "There's no time to explain. The human is fading."

* * *

These children were not supposed to survive. In the real LOST they die of starvation, or get eaten by a polar bear. Their characters don't exist. But here they are.

Aside from Darcy, there is a set of very young dark haired twins that I swear could be my sisters in another life, as well as a young man in shock. I enter the cave and the twins scoot back against the inner wall, mumbling Spanish to each other.

"It's all right," I tell them. "I'm here to help you."

"They don't speak English," rasps the teen lying on the floor. His right leg is twisted in an unnatural way, and a splintered bone has pierced through his blood soaked pants. He tries to lift his head, but the effort is too much, and he collapses in a sweaty heap.

"Ben, help me get him up."

"I've got him."

I hold out an arm to stop Ben from trying to lift the boy by himself. "You're not lifting him by yourself with your arm. Get one shoulder, and I'll get the other."

"I've got him," he insists.

_Why are you being such a pain in the ass? _"Here, you want to carry something? Carry this." I hand Ben my backpack. With a mighty roar, I hoist the teen onto my back and adjust him so he won't fall. Bad idea. My spine feels like it's going to snap, but I'm too proud to admit it. "All right kids, follow me. Or, um . . . _vamanos_!"

* * *

"Where did you find them?" Juliet secures the IV in the boy's arm and types something into the monitor.

"A cave. I was so focused on getting them all back here safely that I haven't even asked Todd anything about it. He's been the one taking care of them."

"There's nothing more I can do here. I'll go get Ethan."

"No," I say aloud, deep in thought. I have an idea. "Don't get Ethan. Get Jack."

Juliet whirls around to gape at me. "Jack? What . . . Cora, we don't have time for this. The boy has already lost too much blood."

I watch him toss and turn in a fever dream. "Just trust me."

"What makes you think Jack will even want to help us?"

_This may be my only chance to help them. Maybe even help Sayid. _"Trust me," I say. "It needs to be Jack."

* * *

**WARNING: The next chapter contains Jackface. Those with heart problems, women who are pregnant or may become pregnant, and those over the age of 75 are advised not to read on. I am not responsible for the side effects of Jackface or any Jacktears that may or may not be shed in abundance.**

**You have been warned.**


	18. Never Been Kissed

_DHARMA, 1975_

_"Your father is an asshole." I feel Annie tense beside me, but Miss Collins doesn't seem to notice her language is making us uncomfortable. "He ever hurts you again, you come tell me."_

_ "Okay," I try to say, but I have to clear my throat. "Okay," I say louder._

_Miss Collins reaches over and nudges Annie's shoulder. "Is anyone bothering you, Granger?"_

_ Annie is quick to shake her head no. _

_ We all have odd nicknames. I'm Bendiana Jones, Annie is Granger, Susan is Salmoncake, Doug is Tortoro, Pete is Lima Bean. On and on. None of them make any sense to me, but Miss Collins keeps track of them all and never gets our real names or our nicknames mixed up._

_ Miss Collins flops back onto the grass and props her feet up on a tree trunk. The three of us are sitting in our favorite afterschool spot. It's close enough to the Barracks to hear if our parents call for us, but it's far enough away to not be bothered by others. We're supposed to be studying for our next test, but Miss Collins usually gets off topic. _

_ Annie has her biology book open in the grass. She gives me an impatient look._

_ "I saw that." Miss Collins laughs. "What is it you need help with?"_

_ "I don't understand the valves of the—"_

_"Heart? God, I hate Valentines Day," Miss Collins interrupts. "If I see one more piece of heart shaped paper—no, you know what? They're not even shaped like real hearts! Nothing but a bunch of unrealistic representations."_

_ "How do you know?" I ask._

_ "I dissected a cat once. For school," she adds quickly. "Did I ever tell you two that I was going to be a nurse?"_

_ We both shake our heads no._

_ "Why did you become a teacher?" Annie asks._

_ "I like helping people." She's quiet for so long I think she's finished. Then she adds, "But I couldn't handle suffering. I couldn't handle having to watch people drag out their death. I couldn't handle not being able to help them in their final moments." Miss Collins sits up suddenly. "It's Friday. Why are you two studying? Go be kids while you still have the chance!"_

_ "But it's Valentines Day," Annie complains, snapping her book shut._

_ "So?"_

_ "That means there's nothing to do because all the grown ups are trying to get Valentines."_

_ Miss Collins rolls her eyes in contempt._

_ Before I can stop myself, it's already been asked. "Do you have a Valentine, Miss Collins?"_

_ "I do, actually," she answers, her face blushing a pale pink. "It's a . . . a very long distance relationship."_

_ I didn't know Miss Collins had a boyfriend. She's never mentioned one before._

_ "Now, come on," she says cheerfully. "Lets go bake some anatomically correct Valentines Day cakes!"_

_ She reaches out to pull me to her side, and I inadvertently flinch._

_ "Hey," Miss Collins kneels down in front of me, "it's alright, sweetheart. Ben, look at me. I would never hurt you." She taps me on the chin with her thumb and smiles. "You know that, don't you?"_

_ I've never believed something more in my life._

* * *

"You're kidding, right?" Jack smiles and shakes his head, mocking me. "You're not serious."

"He's going to die if you don't do something," I repeat. "We need you to reset his leg. He's already lost too much blood."

Jack's eyes go wide, his smile manic. "And why should I do anything for you or your people?"

I have to fight not to roll my eyes. "You're not doing anything for me, Jack. You're doing it to save a young boy's life. And he's not one of _us_. He was a passenger on Oceanic."

"Oh, really?" says Jack. He bobs his head up and down, as if agreeing, but I know he's just mocking me even more.

"When he regains consciousness, you can ask him yourself."

"Right," says Jack unenthusiastically. "Right."

"Will you do it? Will you help him?"

Jack's stupid smile is back. He rolls his head up to look at me and says, "No."

We've been at it for a good half an hour or so. I had Kate, Sayid, and Locke removed from the rec room so I could talk to Jack without their influence. He's still handcuffed to a window.

Jack fixes things. It's what he's hardwired to do. It's in his nature. I figure it won't take much longer to wear him down and convince him to fix that poor boy's leg.

"You will have everything you need," I explain. "There's a fully equipped medical station nearby. He's there now. He's waiting."

"Who's waiting?"

"I already told you, I don't know his name. He's been unconscious this whole time." I stare Jack down, hoping to embed guilt through my pleading eyes. "You have to help him."

"No, I don't have to _do _anything!" Jack lashes out.

"You're right," I agree. "You don't have to save his life. I'll be sure to tell the rest of the children he rescued why he's no longer with us. I'm sure they'll be ecstatic."

Finally, Jack seems to be seriously considering the situation. "Other children?"

"A set of young twin girls and a little deaf boy. The four of them have been hiding out in a cave since the crash. I don't know how long ago the boy's leg was broken, but he's been keeping them alive this entire time. Do you really think it's ethical to let him die now? Like this? The boy's a hero, Jack."

"You're lying." Jack's face twists into multiple different grimaces and frowns and forms of pouty Jackface. I've always found Jackface to be extremely amusing, but it's significantly less amusing when I'm the one having to deal with it. I'm sick of seeing his lips curl behind his teeth in some sort of bizarre soundless snarl.

Ben probably would have already convinced Jack to suit up and go fix the boy like his life depends on it, but there's no way I could ask for Ben's help. It turns out I fractured his arm. It's only a hairline fracture, but it's still a fracture. I've been shamefully avoiding him since we returned home.

_What would Ben do?_

Time for plan B.

B for Ben. Haha.

Yep, still need to work on that humor.

I wave a hand and Richard shepherds in the twin girls, whose names I discovered are Alejandra and Maria, (who knew I would retain anything from 3 years of high school Spanish?). Little Darcy trails behind, clinging to the belt loop of Richard's slacks.

"I tried, girls." I point towards Jack and say, "Este es Jack. Es un doctor. Pero el no, uh . . . ayudara." My Spanish may be shit, but at least I get my point across.

The twins start to plead frantically for Jack to help their friend, but they are speaking way too fast for me to translate. "Richard? What are they saying?"

Richard listens to Alejandra's plea, and then says, "She wants to know why a doctor will not help her friend."

_Success! It's working! It's actually working! _I can see the gears grinding in Jack's brain. He smiles and looks up at the ceiling. _He's weaning!_

But this is taking too long. "How about this," I say, placing an arm around Darcy's shoulder and pulling him close. "If you reset his leg and ensure he's stabilized, I'll let you leave this island."

This grabs his attention, even though he looks like he's trying hard not to seem interested. "And how would that work out?"

"We have a submarine. How do you think we bring in recruits?" _Oh, how easily the word "we" comes out of my mouth, as if I've been here my whole life._

"I want a spot on that submarine," Jack blurts out. "No, I want a spot for every person that wants to leave. All of us. Including the people still at the beach."

I catch Richard's eye, but he's got his poker face on. I hope my eyes are sending him a message to remain silent about the submarine. "If I agree to those terms, will you fix the boy's leg? Will you give it your honest best effort?"

Jack contemplates the offer, and then he nods sharply.

* * *

It's a beautiful day.

Too bad everything's gone to Hell.

My plan has worked, but only temporarily. I have no idea if I'll be able to keep my promise about the submarine because I'm not the leader yet. It was just empty words to trick Jack into saving someone. What will Jack think of me once he figures out I don't actually have the power I've been pretending to wield?

A few yards away, an angry cat is hissing at Todd. "Get away from me, you vile beast!" The cat takes a swipe, grazes Todd's snout with her claws, and promptly scampers off.

"Who was that?" I ask when he wanders over.

"Who, Nadia?" Todd rubs at his wounds. "She likes me, she just won't admit it."

"I doubt that very much."

"How are things with your dear survivor friends? Any progress with Alfred?"

"Alfred? Who's Alfred?"

Todd sits up. "The boy with the broken leg, of course."

"Oh. Well, I've convinced Jack to fix his broken leg. I'm actually on my way to retrieve Juliet. Jack's going to need all the help he can get."

I guess someone has already informed Juliet about what's happened. I can see her approaching the hospital, so I flag her down. At the same time I see Ben leaving the hospital.

Oh, no. I need to explain what I've done about the submarine. Maybe he won't have a problem with it after all. Maybe I can convince him to let Juliet go with them when the sub departs.

He's wearing a sling.

"Ben," I raise my hand to wave him down, "could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Good morning, Juliet." Ben gives her a cheerful smile and passes by without even looking at me. "Thank you for the sling. And best of luck with the operation."

"Ben," I say louder. "Hey!"

"Hm," Juliet remarks. She gives me a surprised look, her eyebrows slowly rising. "What did you do?"

_I don't believe this. He's giving me the silent treatment. Because of his arm? _

I ignore her question. "Jack's suiting up. Good luck. I'll be back to check on you all when it's over."

"I'm not a surgeon," she says, smiling, "but I'm happy to help any way I can."

She's been glum ever since we first met. It's nice to see her smile.

* * *

"Can this wait? I'm busy at the moment."

"You haven't done a single thing since I got here. Shifting papers all over your desk doesn't make you busy."

"I only have one hand to work with," Ben says snidely, "thanks to you."

"That still doesn't constitute shifting papers around as being _busy._"

Ben drops the papers in a sloppy pile and looks up at me for the first time since I got here. "What is it that you want?"

"I've already said what I want."

"And I've already said no," he answers.

"So, Cindy and the kids can stay, but nobody else?"

"This conversation is getting rather old, don't you think? My decision is final. End of discussion."

"How can you have such complete disregard for human life?"

"I have my own people to protect," he says defensively. "You have no right to pass judgment on my moral code when you are arguing for the asylum of individuals who had guns pointed at us before we even exchanged names."

"But I promised Jack he could leave on the submarine."

"Well," Ben exclaims, "that was rather senseless of you, wasn't it?"

_Did he just call me stupid?_ _He just called me stupid. _His outburst throws me off and makes me backtrack a decade to the days of silence and no self-esteem. I can take a lot of shit, but I don't do well with jabs at my intelligence. My father never passed up an opportunity to try and convince me that I was as intellectual as a sack of hammers. It's as touchy a subject for me as food.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "But he's helping us. He's doing the operation!"

Ben slides his glasses back onto his nose and returns his attention to the papers. "I never agreed to any of this. I'm happy that the boy will have a chance to walk again, but your agreement was never ratified by me."

_Why didn't I see this coming? Why did I think after rejecting my plea once, he was suddenly going to change his mind about letting people leave the island? _

_I am stupid. Wasn't it Einstein who defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?_

I suck in a deep breath. "If you make them go back to the beach, I'm leaving, too."

"You're your own person." Ben gathers up the same stupid stack of papers and slides them in a folder. He's not even looking at me. "You can do what you'd like."

That's not the answer I was looking for.

"Okay, then," I threaten. "I'll leave _right now_."

"You know where your backpack is," he says calmly.

There's something snide on the tip of my tongue. I know there is. I just can't get it out. I want to smack him senseless. I want to apologize for fracturing his arm. Instead, I turn to collect my backpack. Ben doesn't comment when I fill it with food and a canteen, but I catch him glancing at me every once in a while.

"Wait," he calls out when I reach the front door. A small part of me is relieved that he's not just going to let me leave. I turn towards Ben fully expecting an argument—craving it, even—but he has produced my bow and arrows. I sling the bow and quiver over a shoulder, and Ben returns to his desk without another word, not even a goodbye.

Right before I slam the door, I shoot him the finger and say, "Congratulations, Ben. You're the first person I've ever flipped off!"

The farther away from Ben's house I travel, the more upset I become. _He just let me leave. He didn't even attempt to persuade me to stay. He didn't even say goodbye._

Sawyer notices my sour mood. "Well, hey-howdy-hey, Doublemint. How're you doing this fine morning?"

I grunt in response.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" he questions curiously.

"Back to the beach."

"Back to the beach? What . . . have you and Captain Kangaroo already had your first marital spat?" Sawyer shakes his head and tosses a papaya in the air. "That didn't last long."

"Go away, Sawyer," I grumble. I'm so angry I don't trust myself to say much, for fear of crying.

Sawyer has become serious. He catches my arm and asks, "You really going back to the beach?"

"Yes," I confirm, yanking away from him. "I want to search for the wolves. Why? You want to come with me?"

Sawyer chuckles and shakes his head. His dirty blonde hair falls lazily over his eyes. "Nah," he says. "I like it fine right here. But hey," he adds when I turn away, "you be careful out there, Cora."

I stop walking and fight the urge to cry. He used my real name.

_It's not fair. Why couldn't my father have been even a little bit like Sawyer? Why couldn't my father have _been_ Sawyer?_

I reach the spot where the survivors were captured and realize I don't know the code to the fence. That must be why Ben let me leave without a fight. Smug bastard is probably laughing it up right now. Laughing at how stupid I am. How _senseless _I am.

I lash out. Without even bothering to strap on my wrist protector, I start launching arrows into the nearest tree trunk.

_Damn you._ I let an arrow fly.

_Damn you. _I release another.

I don't even know who I'm talking to. My dad? Ben? The world?

Myself?

The first six don't even come close to hitting the target, but I manage to get the seventh stuck deep into the wood. I'm stunned that I finally hit something.

"You need to raise your elbow a little higher."

I spin sharply in the direction of the voice, my bow already loaded.

Karl holds out his hands, backing up quickly. "Whoa, whoa," he says. "Don't shoot!"

I drop my aim with an annoyed frown. "What do you want?"

"Jeez, I was just trying to help."

"Wait. Hey, Karl, wait. Come back. I'm sorry." I hold up the bow and arrows in shame. "I don't know how to do this properly. Nobody has had a chance to teach me yet."

Karl continues to give me pointers on shooting all afternoon. He can't seem to wipe a big stupid grin off his face.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Sorry," he says. "It's just . . . well, I'm teaching you how to shoot a bow. This is really cool. Alex is going to be so jealous."

"I'm guessing you were raised with stories about me?"

"Yeah," he says excitedly. "Alex and I are pretty much your biggest fans."

I shoot an arrow right into the center of the trunk.

"Nice," says Karl. I notch another arrow on the bow. "So, I heard about the wolves."

"Yeah." I let the arrow fly, and it sinks in deep right next to my other bull's-eye.

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

"I don't know yet." I run a hand over my eyes. "I don't even know how to find them. This island is huge. I don't know where to start."

"Is that what your backpack is for?" Karl nods toward it. "Are you leaving?"

"I was." I look up at the sky and try to judge how long it will be until nightfall. "You wouldn't happen to know the code for the fence, would you?"

Karl raises an eyebrow. "You really think Ben would entrust me with that information?"

"I guess it's too late now anyway. I'll leave in the morning."

"By yourself?" he asks in disbelief.

"I guess." I smirk. "Unless you're volunteering to join me."

"I don't think Alex would like that very much."

"Bring Alex, then."

Karl laughs. "I don't think Ben would like that very much."

I send the last of my arrows deep into the trunk, and the two of us make the long walk to retrieve them. "I'm curious. How is that? Dating his daughter?"

"Well, when we're not being spied on by that fox of his, we're being spied on by human beings." Karl shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sighs. "I mean, how would you like it if your parents sent out spies to keep an eye on you and your boyfriend, like you were a baby?"

"I wouldn't know," I say. "I've never dated."

Karl stops and stares at me in shock. "_Seriously?_"

"Seriously. I got married without ever having been on a single legitimate date in my entire life."

"Was it because everyone was afraid of you?"

Now it's my turn to laugh. "No. It definitely wasn't because people feared me. I just . . . never found someone I wanted to be with." I blink away my unpleasant memories. "So, Alex, hm?"

The tips of Karl's ears turn pink. "Yeah."

"How long have you been dating?"

"A while. We've been friends for forever. It just sort of happened. One day we were friends, and then one day we were more."

We start gathering the arrows. I tug at the ones lodged into the tree trunk, and I hear Karl snickering. "What are you laughing at this time?"

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "It's just . . . you're Cora, for crying out loud! You took down the Initiative, you rode through the jungle on the backs of polar bears, you could pin a fly to the wall with a single arrow . . . and you've never kissed someone? It's just . . . it's absurd."

"I never said anything about kissing."

Karl gives me a questioning look.

I roll my eyes. "Okay, yes. I've never kissed someone before."

"Unreal," he says under his breath.

After we gather up all the arrows, Karl continues to instruct me on proper technique.

"Thanks a lot, Karl. I really appreciate you helping me. My aim has already improved, and it's only been a day! Gives me hope."

"Not a problem," he returns, smiling.

"Oh, and Karl?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever tell anyone about our conversation," I string my bow and pull it tight against my cheek, "I'll put an arrow through your knee."

* * *

The Barracks are deserted when I make it back. Night has fallen over the community, and everyone has retreated into their snug little houses. I pass by Juliet's house and hear the musical laughter of Sawyer through an open window. At first I dismiss it, but then I hear Juliet laughing alongside him.

I knock, and Juliet is quick to answer. She looks surprised to see me. "Cora? I thought . . . James, I thought you said she left?"

Sawyer rushes up from behind her and pulls me into a bear hug. I cringe in silent mortification. Thankfully, it's over quickly. "I knew you'd be back. Can't live without modern plumbing, right?"

"Cora!" Pumba squeals and rubs his snout against my ankle.

"Hey," I reach down and pet his bristly hair. "I haven't seen you in a while. Who is this little guy?"

A small fuzzy chick has appeared at Pumba's side. "I am Drumstick!" he cheeps. "Sawyer named me."

I slowly raise my eyes up to Sawyer, who is fighting and failing not to laugh. "It is nice to meet you . . . _Drumstick._" I shoot another look at Sawyer. He's turned almost completely around so he can laugh. "It was nice to see you too, Pumba. How did the operation go?" I ask Juliet.

Juliet's good-natured smile widens. "Operation went as smoothly as I hoped it would. There's the possibility that he may have a permanent limp, unfortunately, but other than that, he'll be fine. He should be waking up within the next 24 hours."

"That's great." I shift from one foot to the other. "Where's Jack?"

"Oh, you haven't heard," Juliet says. "Ben moved them all to a house on the other side of the Barracks."

My mouth is hanging open, so I snap it shut. "What?"

Juliet leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "It's intensely guarded, but it's better than being chained to a window, right?"

This doesn't make sense. "It's not . . . they're being kicked out, though. Aren't they? Tomorrow?"

Juliet frowns in thought and looks to Sawyer. "No, it's permanent, as far as I know. Well, except for . . . what's his name, James?"

"Who?" Sawyer nudges Drumstick away with his foot, while the chick pecks furiously at his toes. "Al Jazeera? Names Sayid, I think."

"What about Sayid?" I ask.

"He's being sent beyond the fence tomorrow," Juliet answers.

"He's not being executed?" _What the hell is going on?_ "Why?"

Juliet shrugs. "Don't ask me. I don't understand why Ben does half the things he does."

_Why would . . . Okay, now I'm really confused. He gave me nothing but grief ever since the survivors showed up, and now he grants them asylum? Why? _"I guess I should go home," I say. "I'm planning on looking for the wolves tomorrow. I need to get some sleep."

Sawyer and Juliet wave goodnight from their porch, and I wonder when they finally decided to become friendly towards each other. People are so unpredictable.

Minutes go by as I stand in front of Ben's front door with my hand raised and ready to knock. But I haven't yet. I decide to just let myself in.

A yellow lamp shines from down the hallway. I drop off my backpack by the couch and head to Ben's room to get some pajamas. I can hear the shower running in the bathroom, so after I change, I have another look around the room.

"You're back."

I spin around. Ben stands in the bathroom doorway, dressed in a pair of blue pajamas. He looks genuinely surprised.

"Yes," I say awkwardly. "I didn't have the code to the fence . . . so, I practiced archery instead. I thought you knew."

"I was not informed," he states softly. Water drips off his hair and blots his pajamas with little dark circles. "Well, in that case, I'm sorry to bother you, but if you're going to stay, I'll need one of those pillows."

I eye his sling and feel physically sick with guilt. I know from first hand experience that his couch is an extremely uncomfortable piece of garbage. If he sleeps on it again tonight, it won't just throw out his back for the millionth time in a row, it will make his already injured arm that much more unbearable. And _I'm _the one who gave him that arm.

Ben selects a pillow from off his bed and starts to head out.

"Wait, wait," I call him back. "Ben, wait. You can sleep with me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let me rephrase," I amend quickly. "You can sleep on this side of the bed, fully clothed with your hands to yourself, until approximately 8-9:30 am. Deal?"

"That's a very generous offer, but I think I'll have to pass."

I hadn't anticipated a refusal.

"I think it would be more comfortable for everyone if I sleep on the couch," he says matter-of-factly.

"Ben, if you sleep on that stupid couch, I'll be up all night feeling guilty that not only did I fracture your arm, but I kicked you out of your own room." I throw back the blankets on his side. "Now, stop arguing with me and just _go to sleep._"

Ben turns to leave. "Goodnight, Cora."

I swing out of bed and try to pull the pillow away from him. "Fine. _I'll _sleep on the couch. Give me the pillow, Ben."

"No."

"I'm trying to apologize!"

He backs up, shaking his head. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Understand what?"

"That this isn't fair," he says sharply.

I recoil immediately.

"You're supposed to be _dead!_" he yells, his outburst accusatory. "You . . . You brought me to Richard. You told me you'd be right back. _And you never came back_." He says each word in their own sharp little sentences. "So I waited. I've been waiting. I've spent the majority of my life mourning you, and now suddenly here you are, as if nothing ever happened? You don't know who _I _am! You don't even know who _you _are!" I back up, but he closes in on me, ranting louder than ever. "You set animals on me! You fractured my arm! You look like her . . . I want to believe you are her, but you're not. You can't be." I feel smaller than I've ever felt in my entire life under his disappointed stare. "Dead is dead. You don't get to come back from that. Not even here. So, if you _are _the real Cora, then the fact that you're walking around on this island . . . scares the living hell out of me." Ben finally breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor, blinking until he's regained control of his emotions. "I'm sorry. I'm tired . . . I don't know what I'm saying. Goodnight."

"I keep saying this isn't who I am," I blurt out. Tears swell in my eyes no matter how hard I try to blink them away. "But I'm starting to think it is."

_I've finally realized what's wrong with me. Ever since I started recovering from depression, I've been acting exactly like my father. Random outbursts, physical and verbal abuse to practically everyone I come in contact with, and I've even started swearing profusely. I never used to swear out loud._

_No. No, please, no. Please tell me this isn't the real me._

_ Is this who I really am? Is this who I've always been and I just never knew it? Is this the real me that's been trapped inside, bottled up tight from depression, and now that there's nothing standing in its way it can reek havoc?_

_ I look like my father. Am I doomed to act like him too?_

_Am I doomed to be a violent monster?_

"I never meant to hurt you," I continue. "That was an accident. But you want to talk about fair? You're mad at me for something I haven't even done yet. And what about me? I'm never going to see my family again. I'm stuck in a place where they don't even exist anymore. How is that fair?"

No amount of laughter will release the tension in my throat. I can't run, because he's blocking the doorway. I want my mother to comfort me. I want _someone _to comfort me because I feel like garbage. I feel like the lowest form of life on the planet.

But my mother isn't here, so I rock my head forward onto Ben's shoulder and begin to sob.

I don't know what he's thinking because I cannot see his face. His uninjured arm reaches up and rests a hand on the small of my back. I wait for the flashes to start. I wait for the panic to rise up inside me like a sweltering sickness. Instead, I feel the comfort I was longing for, and the tears quickly die.

I once read in a medical journal that humans need an average of 4 hugs a day for survival, 8 hugs a day for maintenance, and 12 hugs a day for growth.

If those statistics are actually true, that would explain so much.

I bring my own arms up and wrap them around his shoulders.

_1 hug down, 1,000,000,000,000 to go before I'm considered "healthy"._

"I don't want you to be mad at me anymore," I whisper. "Please, Ben. I like having you as a friend."

"I'm not mad anymore."

I rest against his shoulder and sigh with relief. "How am I supposed to be a leader if I can't even take care of myself?" It's a good thing I don't wear mascara, or his pajama shirt would be a stained mess. "I keep saying that I can take care of myself, but that's not true. I'm not mature enough. I'm not mature at all. I want to believe that I am, but I'm not." It's embarrassing to think about. _I'm 20 years old. I'm a legal adult, and I'm still throwing tantrums like a 2 year old?_ "I don't want to be a leader."

"Maybe that's why it's being given to you."

_Who the hell knows why it's being given to me? I'm literally the worst candidate to watch over people. I'm impulsive and insecure and really, really lonely. Bad combination._

"You gave them a house," I speak into his shirt, suddenly remembering about the survivors. Ben's been fighting me tooth and nail ever since they showed up, and now they have a house all to themselves. "You're letting them stay."

I feel his chin rest on the top of my head. "Are you still going to leave?" he whispers.

_He's letting them stay so that I'll stay._

I pull away from his shoulder, and my hands impulsively reach out to cup both sides of his face. I stand on the tips of my toes, my heart soaring, and gently kiss his lips. It's not deep, or feverish, or impatient. It's as light as the flap of a butterfly's wing. It's barely a kiss at all.

For once I don't feel completely stupid because judging by the stunned look on his face, he doesn't know what to do either.

Ben abruptly pulls me close to him with a hand between my shoulder blades. Before I have a chance to protest, he presses his warm lips to mine again and again. A fluttering in my stomach slowly leeches out to my limbs. Up close I can smell the lingering scent of his cologne, or maybe that's just what his skin smells like. I've never consumed alcohol before, but I'm almost positive this is what it feels like to be inebriated.

I pull away with a smack. Before he can lean in again, I press my hands against his chest and say, "Give me that pillow." He hands it over. I point to his side of the bed and order, "Go to sleep."

He blinks a few times, and then asks, "Are you sure?"

"Please, just do as I say." I slip into bed beside him and order, "Turn out the light." I listen to the click of the switch, and the room goes black. "Scoot over a little." He shifts beside me. He's so obedient that I have an idea. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"Will you let Jack and Juliet leave on the submarine tomorrow? Jack preformed the surgery, and I promised he could leave as payment for his cooperation."

"I—" Ben begins, instantly beginning again. "I don't think—"

I turn to look at him in the dark. "You're not going to make me a liar, are you?"

Ben opens and closes his mouth about a dozen times, thinking and rethinking an answer. I reach out and gently brush back some hair that fell over his forehead, my fingers lingering against his temple. "All right," he breathes.

_Is this technically taking advantage of him?_

The silence has swelled and stuffed itself into every corner of the room. It's suffocating. "Ben?"

He shifts around. "Hm?"

"I'm leaving in the morning to try and locate the wolves. Can you tell me the code for the fence?"

He swiftly sits up on one elbow, bumping into my side, but I don't think it's intentional because he doesn't apologize. "Why do you need the wolves, anyway? There's no reason for you to leave. We are perfectly safe here. The fence will keep out anything that means us harm. I'm sure they will return promptly after executing whatever revenge scheme they planned." His bargaining is that of a child. He's completely forgotten about the fact that at some point in time I told him I need the wolves. If I don't have the wolves, nothing plays out the way it's supposed to. Ben seems to have regressed back to the days of his youth, and I don't know how to snap him out of it. I don't know how to tell him that I'm leaving tomorrow with or without him.

"You're right," I assure him, and I feel him relax. "I'll stay."

I guess I'm not such a bad liar after all.


	19. The Darkness That Lurks In Us All

_DHARMA, 1975_

_ Annie is gone. She left with her parents on the last sub back to the mainland. Annie's father was the only Hydra worker Miss Collins spared, but it wasn't enough to calm Annie down. Her family was the first to board the submarine._

_ My father is gone. He left on the same submarine as Annie. I'm glad he's gone, and it shouldn't bother me that he left without saying goodbye, but it does._

_ Now I have no one, not even Miss Collins._

_ Miss Collins hasn't come out of her house in two weeks. Her parents won't let anyone visit her. Sometimes I can see her silhouette pacing in front of the bedroom window, but she never draws back the curtains._

_ Richard looks after me now. Miss Collins made all of Dharma evacuate the island, except for the physicists working on the Swan Station. I don't know why. Nobody tells me anything. I stare out the window and imagine ways I could try and communicate with her._

_ "She'll be okay." Richard peers at me from over his journal and smiles. "She just needs a little break."_

_ "A break from what?" I question. My face warms at Richard's disproving look._

_ Eventually the silence becomes unbearable, and I flee._

_ The Hostiles have moved into the Barracks and adjusted really quickly. A few of them recognize me and say hello, but for the most part I am ignored._

_ We're not allowed to wear Dharma jumpsuits anymore. In fact, it has been strictly forbidden. Horace was the first victim. A small circle of frightened onlookers watched as Miss Collins knocked him over onto his back and plunged a knife into his chest, over and over, like a robot. She never said anything—no screaming, no cursing—just slammed the knife into his chest with a violent urgency. I watched from LaFleur's front porch as Cora's face gradually stained a dark red from the spray of Horace's blood. I wish there had been something I could do to help, but I was frozen in terror. Horace was the first friend I made on this island._

_ That was the last time I saw her. While her parents were dragging her away, I caught her eye, but she didn't acknowledge me. I'm not even sure if she knew who I was._

* * *

_ I'm lying on my bed, Prince Humperdinck seated on my stomach, when I hear the tapping._

_ At first I think it's the beginning of a rainstorm, but then the rain whispers my name. I sit up and hurry to open the window. A furry white mass leaps in and lands soundlessly on the wood flooring._

_ A firm hand tousles my shortened hair Richard recently sheared. "I like your new haircut."_

_ "Miss Collins?" I practically yell._

_ "Shhhhhh!" she warns, quickly covering my mouth with a hand. "Do you want me to get thrown back into the slammer?"_

_ Draped over her head, trailing down her back like some sort of massive cape is . . . "Miss Collins," I stammer, "what is that?"_

_ "His name was Alabaster." She fluffs the fur and does a quick spin. "Isn't he gorgeous?" She frowns at my expression. "I didn't kill him if that's what you're wondering."_

_ I thought seeing Miss Collins again would make everything better. Like somehow things would magically go back to the way they were when she was our teacher. But I can tell just by looking at her that the Miss Collins I knew is gone. Her eyes are so rimmed with dark circles that it makes them look like they're sinking into her head. Every few seconds she twitches at some unheard sound. She's wearing the fur of one of the polar bears she just fought to free. If there is one thing I know to be true, it's that she would never kill an animal without a good reason. And why would she wear it?_

_I back up, suddenly afraid. "You killed Horace."_

_Miss Collins looks confused, and then her eyes widen. "Aw, shit. I did, didn't I? Damn it." She hits her forehead with the palm of her hand, and then she jerks her attention back to me. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It was that damn jumpsuit . . . makes me go crazy, you know? I am getting better, though."_

_What?_

_She starts wandering around my room, picking up pictures and stopping briefly to ask Prince Humperdinck how he's been doing. "Hey, where's Granger?"_

_The memory of Annie's departure hits me hard in the stomach. Annie was furious that I wanted to stay. She couldn't understand why Miss Collins killed so many people. I don't understand it either—not really—but I still defended her. I figured she had to have a good reason. Good people don't just kill people for no reason._

_It finally hits me that Annie is gone. "She left . . . with her family. On the subs."_

_"What? When?"_

_"Two weeks ago," I say bitterly. _

_Miss Collins lets out a long sigh and sits at the edge of my bed. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I want you to know that."_

_I don't know what to do, so I sit down beside her._

_"I've had a really shitty life, Ben," Miss Collins says airily, like she's remembering a dream. "A really shitty life." She glances sidelong at me with her scary, bloodshot eyes. "I'm trying to make sure yours is better than mine ever was." A flash of arm peeks out from under the fur, and she jerks the cape around herself to cover it, but not before I see. Her arms are covered in long pink scars._

_She killed an entire island full of people, she killed a polar bear, she killed Horace, and now she's hurting herself?_

_"You're going to yell, aren't you?" she asks flatly._

_Before I can even think to yell for Richard, she's tied something around my head that completely covers my mouth. The only sound I can make is an almost silent muffled protest._

_ "One of these days everything is going to make sense. I promise. Come on, kiddo." She picks me up and slings me over a shoulder, already heading for the window. "It's time I teach you how to fight."_

* * *

My dreams are full of the stench of antiseptic. I'm lying on my back, being wheeled at impossible speeds through a cold hospital floor. The lights flash by in a blur, the stretcher wheels squeaking furiously like Mrs. Brisby's children.

I stretch my neck to get a look at the doctor wheeling my gurney. He pulls down his mask to reveal Ben's face. "Here you go," he says and releases the gurney with one final push.

I go careening down the hallway, screaming bloody murder, until I crash into a pile of discarded birdcages. My face slaps the freezing tile floor. I try to hoist myself to my feet, but a bloody arm darts out from between the bars of a cage and grabs tightly to my ankle. It's my mother, only it's not. This version of her lacks both eyes—replaced with hollow holes that stretch on into infinity. Her lips part and blood gushes out from between her sharp teeth, dribbling all over the floor.

I scream and thrash until I brake free of her grip. The hallway turns slick with blood, slowly tilting downward until I'm sliding, helpless to stop. Eventually I slam into a door with a giant Dharma logo on it.

"Open this door!" I plead, banging my fists against the cold metal. "_PLEASE! OPEN THIS DOOR!_"

The door swings open to reveal a man wielding a rife.

Desmond. It's Desmond Hume.

His eyes go wide, and he drops his aim. "It's you," he says in amazement.

* * *

I wake up a few hours later to the steady beating of a drum. Groggy, with only a fleeting recollection of my dream, I nestle my face deeper into my pillow—only it's not as fluffy as I remember it being when I first dosed off. When I open my eyes, I find that I've been resting my head on Ben's chest.

"I would just like to point out," he says nervously, "that you rolled onto me completely on your own." Ben looks so paranoid that I snort with laughter. When I lift my head to return to my side of the bed, he says, "You don't have to move, if you don't want to. You're not bothering me."

I haven't shared a bed with someone since before the "incident" with my mother. My sisters used to climb into bed with me all the time, curling themselves up like kittens. After the incident, the sleepovers were a thing of the past.

I hadn't thought about that memory in years. It consoles me, so I decide to rest my head back on his chest.

"You move around a lot in your sleep," he comments.

"What time is it?"

"2 am."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"I'm a light sleeper."

"Sorry." To help get my mind off the lingering post-night terror nausea, I brush my fingers against his sling, and I think back to yesterday morning. "What did you tell Juliet about your arm? She acted like she didn't know I was the cause."

"I told her the truth. I fell." He smiles. "I just omitted you from it. It's not technically a lie."

Even when he's pissed off he still looks after me. I contemplate whether or not I should kiss him again. I'm so full of happiness that it borderlines sickness. But it doesn't last long.

Someone starts pounding on the front door.

* * *

The plate I fling across the room shatters into a rain of broken glass. "_HOW_?" I scream.

The three men who witnessed the explosion take a hesitant step back. Ben doesn't even attempt to reassure them that I won't harm them.

"_He's an old man!_" I yell. "You're telling me that seven armed guards can't keep an eye on an elderly man? _Is that what you're telling me?_"

"He orchestrated a distraction," one of the men pipes up.

_Breathe in, breathe out. _I turn around, calm as I can manage, and give Ben's hand a squeeze. "I'm going to go get dressed," I tell him. "It's time I have a talk with Michael Bay."

"Who?" Ben asks.

"With Locke," I elaborate. "I want you to come with me."

His eyes widen with surprise. "You do?"

"Yes," I answer, heading down the hall. "I need you there to make sure I don't murder him."

* * *

Locke is sitting smug on a chair in the rec room, despite him being back to square one. His hands have been handcuffed behind his back. I stand in front of him underneath the buzzing pool table lamp. A gnat makes a dive for my face, so I clap it dead in midair.

"You mind telling me why you blew up our submarine?" I ask.

"The island told me to," Locke answers.

Locke's odd obsession with the island was enduring—almost charming—when I first watched the show. _Now _I understand why Jack was always so angry with him. "The island told you," I say monotone. "So, you're a tree whisperer? Tell me, how does a hunk of volcanic aftermath speak to you?"

"It doesn't speak to you?" he asks, a tiny grin tugging at his lips.

"Oh, sure," I say. "I love a good conversation with my friends Mr. Twig and Mrs. Palm Tree."

Locke doesn't lose any of his good-natured cheer. "Maybe you're just not listening close enough."

_I had convinced him. I had finally convinced Ben to let Juliet go home, and then this numbnut comes along and destroys the one shot I had at making someone's life better than the original show. _The anger is boiling up inside me like a teakettle. I feel Ben's hand on my arm, and I start tapping my foot to try and calm down.

"So, Cora . . . who exactly are you?"

I snort. "You want the truth or the version you can wrap your head around?"

"Tell me," Locke asks, "were you born here? On the island?"

"I was born in Kentucky. Moved to Los Angeles when I was a baby. My favorite color is blue, and I hate asparagus. Any other questions?"

"You weren't on our plane."

"No, Locke, I wasn't on your plane."

"How'd you get your head split open? Seems like a lot of trouble just to try and fit in."

My hand flies up to smooth out the scar from whatever it was that sliced my head open on the first day of the crash. If it had been only a little bit lower, I could have passed myself off as Harry Potter. "I don't know how that happened."

"When did you first come to the island?" Locke asks curiously.

I sigh and look around for a chair. Ben drags one over for me without me asking him to. I take a seat and Ben continues standing, a reassuring hand resting lightly on my shoulder. For some reason the touching helps. It's like he's sucking away my fury.

I begin my long explanation. I tell Locke that I'm from a different dimension in the future, and that I was sent here for some reason to help everyone on the island. No, I'm not psychic. No, I didn't have the power to talk to animals before I came to the island. No, I don't know how to get back to my own dimension. I have a feeling nobody here is going to appreciate being told that they're fictitious, so I leave that part out.

What actually happened was two girls from one of my English classes let it slip that they had never watched LOST before, so I offered to watch it with them. They agreed, but only if I supplied snacks. I was pretty much the lowest man on the totem pole in my dorm, so I agreed just for the bragging rights of hosting a "girls night". Halfway through season 1 episode 5, I dosed off. The rest is history.

"You and I," Locke says, looking at me with a twinkle in his eye, "were meant to be here. The island chose us. It brought us here."

"Oh, really?" I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "And why is that?"

"The island blessed the two of us. Maybe it means we're special."

I wait for him to elaborate. "Blessed how?"

"Before I got here . . . I was—"

"In a wheelchair," I finish. "Yes, I know."

I've finally stunned him into silence, but it doesn't last long. "I can walk . . . you can talk to animals . . . don't you think of these things as blessings?"

"I'm thinking of a lot of things, John, and none of them are pleasant." I rub my fingers over my eyes, one at a time.

"I didn't know you were married," Locke comments. I forgot I was wearing a wedding ring. It didn't take long to get used to.

"Recently," I answer.

"I assume you're the lucky fella?" Locke chuckles, and I stop rubbing my eyes to see what's so funny. "I'm sure every man on this island is nagging you for your secret. Known each other for, how long? Three weeks? Kind of hasty if you ask me."

"It's a good thing we didn't ask you then, isn't it?" I snap. _So, now what? He blew up the submarine, and he's delusional about all this island mumbo jumbo when he's not even on Jacob's list._

After a pause, Locke speaks again. "Aren't you even the slightest bit curious as to why we're here?"

"You stupid, selfish ass!" I yell, jumping to my feet and sending the chair flying behind me. "I'm trying to do what's right, and you just ruined everything! If people want to leave, who the hell are you to tell them they can't?"

"We can't leave," Locke counters. "Don't you understand? This island is special. This is a place of miracles!"

"You're insane."

"And you're cheating," he retorts, all joking has vanished. "You're all cheating. Living in houses with air-conditioning and refrigerators, eating leftover chicken—"

"Whoa, excuse me?" I interrupt, grimacing. "I don't eat chicken. I _know _a chicken, thank you very much."

"I made something for you," Locke says randomly.

Ben's grip on my arm tightens, but I shake my head and he removes it.

"Here, it's in the front pocket of my vest."

I unsnap the button on the front of his hunting vest and pull out a tiny little rod carved of wood. I roll it around in the palm of my hand, confused. "What the hell is this?"

"I heard you need help finding some wolves. That whistle should do the trick." Locke smiles up at me, friendly, like we're buddies sharing some kind of inside joke.

So I punch him hard in the face.

I've underestimated myself. My hit was hard enough to knock him over in the chair. It takes three people to get me off him.

"You stupid bastard!" I scream, clawing at the men pulling me out the door. "You've ruined _everything!_"

Locke spits out blood with that delusional smile still fixed on his lips.

* * *

Now it's Jack's turn to fly off the handle. "You gave me your word," he accuses.

The house Ben put Jack, Kate, Sayid, Mr. Eko, and Locke in is furnished with all the typical dated pleasantries—ugly (and probably uncomfortable) couches, two small bookshelves full of odds and ends, a kitchen table, and an assortment of cooking utensils.

Actually, now that I think about it, why didn't I get this house? Or at the very least, Sawyer? It would have saved Juliet a headache or two.

I can see Juliet listening in from the doorway. She hasn't been crying, but her eyes are puffy with anticipation. I guess she's been cried out for the time being—Goodwin, news of her sister, and now the inevitable truth that she's stuck here for good.

"Yeah?" I throw my arms up in exasperation. "Well, I didn't ask Mr. Fireworks to blow up your ticket out of here. Take it up with him. I'm done."

I leave in a huff.

Ethan confronts me when I go to visit Claire. "We had to remove Charlie."

"Why?" I ask. "Is he okay?"

"Drug withdrawal. He was becoming violent."

"Is he okay?" I repeat.

Ethan shrugs. "Claire's almost ready to go into labor. I haven't had the time to check on him. You want me to?"

"No," I say quickly. "No, keep an eye on Claire. How is she doing?"

"No complications so far."

"Good, good."

"You want to see her? She's asleep right now, but I could—"

"No, don't wake her up." The truth is I want to talk to her. She's the only person I can think of who doesn't have some kind of ulterior motive. When she says something, you believe her. It's nice to speak with genuine individuals.

_Rose and Bernard. _Their names pop into my head.

They were my favorite couple on the show. Where are they now? I hope they're okay.

The dog whistle Locke made me might actually work. I remember he had made one for Walt so he could find his dog Vincent.

I feel guilty all over again. Locke hasn't had the chance to go through any of his revelations yet. He's still pretty much stuck in wonderstruck season 1 mode. He made something that can actually help me, and as a thank you I beat the crap out of him.

It's such a vague memory. Almost like it didn't happen.

_Is this what it felt like for my father? It's so easy to hurt other people. It's the quickest way to feel powerful._

I end up in front of my house. _My _house. The one everyone avoids.

I stomp up the stairs and push open the door.

I need to find something, _anything_ that disproves my theory. I'm not like my father. I'm not.

Drawers fly across the room as I frantically search their contents. I throw everything out of my closet and onto my bed. Deep in the corner, hidden behind a small Dharma propaganda poster tacked to the wall, I find a hole. Inside the hole I find a box. My hands are shaking so hard when I pull it out that I accidently drop it.

Old photographs scatter across the floor like weathered rose petals. I pick them up at random, hoping to shed some light on my past-future-whatever-the-hell-it-is life.

The first photo is of me standing next to a tree. I'm not even paying attention to the photographer. Photo after photo I become more and more stressed. None of these are helpful in deciphering who I was—who I'm going to be. I catch sight of a group photo: me, Sawyer, Juliet, Jin, and Miles all smiling for the camera.

Miles.

_Oh, shit. The freighter!_

I'm about to jump up and run back to Ben's house when I spot a photo lying alone off to the side. It's a yellowed photo of me in a hospital gown, smiling widely and holding a newborn baby up against my face—a chubby blonde baby with strikingly blue eyes and a generous amount of dark black eyelashes.


	20. The Lonely Mountain

DHARMA, 1975

"_We're gonna have so much fun," Miss Collins promises. Once we got past the sonic fence, she unwrapped the scarf covering my mouth and let me walk on my own two feet. She gathers her bow and arrows that were hidden in the jungle while I follow behind her in complete darkness—no torch, no lamp, and no flashlight, only the faint glow of the moon through the tops of the trees. "I'm gonna teach you all sorts of neat stuff. Did you know you can break someone's arm just by hitting it at a certain angle? A little bit of pressure goes a long way."_

_ "Miss Collins, I want to go home."_

_ She stops abruptly, and I almost run into the back of her cape because I can't see. A small cross gravestone sticks up from the ground. The two of us watch it in silence._

_ "Who is it?" I ask, instantly wishing I had remained silent._

_ "A friend," she answers sadly, and continues walking._

_ Something moves in the distance, but my eyes can't focus enough to make out what it is._

_ "Ohhhhh," Miss Collins coos. "There's my baaaaaby! Who's mommy's good little baby?"_

_ A polar bear no bigger than a Labrador scampers out of the trees and pounces on Miss Collins. Its roar is nothing more than a high-pitched whine. The baby bear notices me and cries out, darting behind Miss Collins legs._

_ "Don't be afraid," Miss Collins sooths. She plops down on the ground and the two of them begin rubbing their foreheads together. Miss Collins's face gets lost in the fluff. "He's a trustworthy human. You don't have to be afraid of him, Marguerite. I promise." Miss Collins looks up at me and says, "Say hello to Marguerite. You two are going to be the best of friends." When I don't move, she says, "You have to rub your foreheads together. That's how they say hello."_

_ Slowly, very carefully, I kneel down. Marguerite cautiously approaches me, briefly taps my forehead with her own, and then darts back behind Miss Collins._

_ "She doesn't like humans," Miss Collins explains. "Can't say I blame her. I'm not very fond of them myself."_

_ "CORA?" a furious voice booms from behind us. Richard comes crashing through the trees, wielding a flashlight, and he quickly yanks me behind him. "Ben," he asks me, "are you hurt?"_

_ Miss Collins screams like she's being murdered and curls up in a ball, completely covered by the fur cloak, so she looks no different than Marguerite._

_ "Damn it." Richard fumbles to shut off the light. "It's off, it's off, I'm sorry. I've turned it off."_

_ Miss Collins peaks her head out and asks, "How did you find me?"_

_ I can hardly see anything in this darkness._

_Richard's steady voice sounds through the empty space between the three of us. "James and Juliet got a call that the fence was down. Who else would be wandering around this late at night? As soon as they confirmed you were not in your room, I set out. You didn't have that much of a head start."_

_ "I'm not going back to that room."_

_ "Nobody said you have to stay in your room," Richard answers._

_ "I can't go back to that room, Richard. I'll go crazy."_

_ "Remember what we talked about?" he asks. "You're allowed to leave the house. You just have to have one of us with you."_

_ "Okay. But I'm taking Marguerite with me."_

_ I hear Richard sigh. "Cora—"_

_ "No!" she shrieks, clinging tightly to Marguerite. "You can't take her away from me!"_

_ "Nobody is going to take her away from you. But she needs to be kept secure. You can't have a bear as a pet."_

_ Cora shoots up and screams, "I WILL NOT PUT HER IN A CAGE!"_

_ "Okay. Alright." Richard relents, slowly moving away from me and towards Miss Collins. "We'll keep her inside your house. But, Cora, should anything happen—"_

_ "Marguerite would never hurt a fly," Miss Collins snarls. "I'm not going back to the Barracks if she can't come with me."_

_ "Alright then. Bring her."_

_ "I can?" Miss Collins asks in disbelief. And then she begins to cry._

_ Richard has finally gotten close enough to wrap her in a hug. He rests his chin on the top of her head. "You shouldn't be out here by yourself. We've already talked about this. It's not healthy. You promised you would give the community a try."_

_ "I am trying," she whimpers. "I just . . . they scare me, Richard. They all scare me." Her whole body racks with sobs. "I still hear it. No matter who it is, no matter what they look like, I still hear it pounding through my head. I thought I was getting better, but then I close my eyes and it's all too much and I can't stand to be around any of them. I thought leaving might help. I shouldn't have dragged Ben into it, but I thought maybe if I could get my mind off it, teach him how to defend himself, or something. I just . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry."_

_ Richard holds her tightly to his chest and tries to calm her down. He's saying something to her, but his voice is too low and muffled for me to make out what it is. Whatever it was, it seems to have worked because Miss Collins shuffles along beside him without a fight. Marguerite whines and walks so close to Miss Collins's legs I'm surprised she doesn't trip._

_ As they pass by me, I hear Richard reciting something to her in a language I've never heard before. Miss Collins leans into his side, relaxed into a trance._

_ I follow them both back home without being asked to._

* * *

Day 1

_Get out of here._

_ Get out of here, now._

The message: _DO NOT TRUST YOURSELF _painted in blood over my bed screams at me.

_Maybe what I meant was not to trust my hasty approval of my new marriage? I mean, I've never even had a boyfriend before, and now I'm sleeping in the same house—in the same bed—with a man whom I've only known for, what? Two weeks?_

DO NOT TRUST YOURSELF

_What the hell does that mean? Don't trust what about myself? My conviction or my doubt?_

I fumble around, unsure of what to do or where to go. I've reverted back to my training, the panic rising deep in my throat. Nauseous acid churns in my stomach and makes me hold a hand to my mouth for fear of vomiting. For some reason I start shoveling the photos back into the box, as if hiding them will keep them from coming true.

That's when I notice there are more than just photos in the box. A small roll of film lies on its side, unlabeled. It's the kind you attach to a projector, like the one in the hatch.

_Desmond Hume._

A spark of memory. _My nightmare. It had something to do with Desmond, didn't it? Maybe I'm supposed to find him. Maybe it wasn't just a nightmare._

I clutch tightly to the film and stand up, sit down, and then stand back up and head for the door.

* * *

I find Richard in the most picturesque of settings. He's sitting with his back leaning up against the trunk of a great billowing tree. Seated in the shade beside him are the twins I rescued from the cave.

Richard seems to have adopted Alejandra and Maria. The two girls sit cross-legged in the grass next to him, completely engrossed as he tells them a story in Spanish. I find myself gawking at the sweetness of the moment. The three of them look like one big happy family. It's nice to know that Richard has people to care for now, instead of just being Jacob's personal slave.

"Cora," Richard acknowledges me with a nod.

"Hey, Richard." I wave at the girls. "Hola, chicas."

"Hola," they repeat in unison and then giggle.

"Tu vestido es bonito," I say, pointing to Maria's (I'm never 100% sure because they both look identical) dress.

She looks down and smiles shyly. I wonder if I'm saying it wrong.

"Can I help you with something?" Richard asks.

"I'd like the code for the fence, please."

Richard says something to the twins in Spanish and they scamper off, hand in hand. I watch them as they skip away, their long dark hair swaying side to side, looking so much like my sisters did when they were that age. It makes me homesick. "Do you know if their parents were on the flight?"

"They're orphans," he answers. "They were on their way to meet their adoptive parents when the plane crashed."

"Oh."

"I haven't seen you in a long while," he says, smiling. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been avoiding me."

"I could say the same thing about you. You weren't exactly seeking me out either."

"Would you like to sit?" Richard offers, gesturing to the spot where the twins had been sitting moments ago. It's weird seeing him in such a casual setting. His usual sharp posture is relaxed for once, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in a good week or two. The dark shadows of his stubble are highlighted by the deep blue of his shirt.

I'm not entirely sure what to think of him. His character was almost as big an anomaly as Jacob himself, so I don't know all that much about his life. I know he had a wife—Isabella, I think—who died of tuberculosis. Richard blames himself because he wasn't able to bring her the life-saving medicine in time. I can't imagine what sort of torment that's done to his mind all these years later.

I clear my throat. "I'd like to leave, please. Now."

In one swift movement he's up on his feet, standing over me. "Where's your backpack?"

My face reddens. "It's at Ben's house, but, you see, I don't want him to know I'm leaving. He'll just end up talking me to death and changing the code to the fence. I just . . . Ben once told me I'm not a prisoner, so I should be allowed to leave whenever I want."

Richard smiles, and the sunshine glistens off one of his pearly white teeth. "Agreed. But I'm afraid I can't let you leave—" I start to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop me, "—without the proper supplies. Wait here. I'll pack you a bag myself."

I sigh with relief. "Thank you, Richard. I truly appreciate it."

Richard returns, as promised, with a backpack filled with food, water, and other survival essentials like rope, a knife, and a tiny tarp. He also hands me my bow and arrows. "You shouldn't go out there alone."

I shrug the backpack on and adjust the straps. "Yeah, well, looks like I don't really have a choice anymore."

"You always have a choice," he says.

"Ha. You should be a comedian."

I haven't had the chance to really study Richard since the day he brought me to Jacob. He smells faintly of gunpowder and spicy cologne. The scent is not as intoxicating as Ben's, but it's still pretty damn good. Up close I can appreciate just how shapely his face is. The first unmistakable feature I notice is his eyelashes. He has so many of them packed tightly together that it looks like he's wearing eyeliner. Where Ben's eyes are all vibrant blue light, Richard's are an equally intense black hue, and once you look into either of their eyes, it's near impossible to look away.

Genetically speaking, I should have inherited the blonde lashes of my father, since I inherited virtually everything else from him, but I received my mother's instead. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Richard's dark features, contrasted with his lighter olive skin, make me think of my mother. I wonder if he knows Italian?

"Has anyone shown you your library yet?" His question finally breaks me out of my embarrassing stupor.

"Library?" I think back to the two measly bookshelves in my house. Both were knocked over, books spilled across the floor. "It didn't look like much of a library to me."

"I suppose that answers my question. Would you like me to show you? It's just beyond the fence. It might help shed some light on your past. Help you remember. I can't guarantee anything, but there's no harm in trying."

I glance back towards the Barracks, eager to get the hell out of here. "Okay," I say.

* * *

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Something personal?" I add.

"Go ahead."

I follow alongside Richard as he leads me through an overgrown jungle path. "Do you have any surviving family?"

"I assume you mean blood relations?" he asks. "No," he answers after a long pause. "None that I'm aware of. Why?"

I think over the wording in my head, trying not to make him angry. "Have you ever been married?"

Richard glances at me with a raised eyebrow. "Are you asking questions you already know the answer to?"

"I'm just trying to be polite."

"Yes," he answers after a pause, "I was married, once. A long time ago."

"How long ago?"

All I get is, "What is it you want to ask? I sense that wasn't your original question."

"How long did it take," I ask, "before you stopped thinking about her all the time?"

"You're homesick." He says it as a statement, not a question.

"Yes," I admit.

"Honestly, it never gets easier. You never stop thinking about the people you love. Not for as long as you live." He shakes his head. "Sorry, that's probably not what you want to hear."

It's not, but it's also not a surprise. I guess I just needed validation for the way I've been feeling. "Do you have any children?" Richard gives me a look, and I apologize. "Sorry, it's just you're really good with Alejandra and Maria. They seem to like you."

"They seem to like you, too."

I shrug.

Richard laughs. "You're good with animals and children, but not adults."

"It's because I know what kids want. Having a deprived childhood will do that to you."

"You're going to make a wonderful mother some day," he comments softly.

I think back to the picture of me holding a baby and shutter. I want to ask for clarification, but bile starts burning up my throat, and I can't get the words out.

An awkward silence falls between us. "Richard?"

"Yes?"

"You say you know me from years back. Were we friends?"

"We're here," he announces, pointing at a waterfall.

* * *

The cavern behind the waterfall is beyond enormous. I've made the shelves out of the sloping crevices in the rock walls and lined up the books as tightly as they can fit. There isn't an inch of free space.

A small bed lies pushed against the far side of the cave, stripped of sheets.

Littered in a pile on the floor are papers upon papers filled with absurd geometric shapes. I pick one up and inspect it. It's a crosshatch of lines forming an endless count of triangles. Underneath these papers are little wisps of white fluff.

"What is this place?" I ask in confusion. "Why on earth would I create a library behind a waterfall? Water and paper don't exactly mix."

Richard runs a hand down a shelf housing multiple copies of works by Jane Austen. "You used to spend the majority of your time here."

"Why?"

I may not be good at reading people, but I'm fairly certain Richard looks pained at the memory. "I should be heading back," he says. "Take care, Cora."

"Will you be okay?"

He stops halfway to the doorway of water and asks, "What do you mean?"

"I'm sure Ben's not going to be very happy you let me out."

A small smirk tugs at his lips. "I don't answer to Ben."

As soon as Richard leaves, I start pulling out books for inspection. Along the top of one of the rock bookshelves I've chiseled the Elvish words for: _Look inside mother's favorite novel for an important message_. And then the English numerals _23_.

I scour the shelves until I find what I'm looking for. I excitedly pull out _Withering Heights _and eagerly flip to page 23, my heart racing with anticipation. A piece of paper has been folded and stuffed within the musty pages. I carefully unfold it, so I don't rip it in my haste to know what it says. In Elven scrawl I've written: _I will never give you up. I will never let you down. I will never run around and desert you—_

"I Rick-rolled myself," I say in disgust. "I Rick-rolled _myself. _What the hell, future me? What the hell?"

* * *

The library turns out to be a bust. Nothing but slightly bloated books untouched for at least 20 years or so. I yank open my backpack and fish around for food. My mouth begins to water with uncomfortable hastiness, and I end up having to wipe away drool. I'm thankful to be alone.

After fighting away the voice telling me to eat all my provisions in one sitting, I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, curl up on my sheet-less bed, and quickly fall asleep.

* * *

Day 2

I wake up covered in sweat. The day is hot and humid.

I pull out a Dharma brand granola bar for breakfast and then head out.

A few minutes into my hike, I stumble across a little green bird lying dead on the ground, swarmed with ants. I hear sobbing nearby, so I call out, "Hello?"

"Who's there?"

"My name is Cora. What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Hey, I know you," says the voice.

"Where are you?" I spin around, searching the trees. "I can't see you."

"Incoming!" the voice cries out. I spin around just in time to catch a little baby bird. It's the little green bird I caught the last time I was out here, and his mother attacked me in return. "Hello," he says, and then he bursts into mournful squawks.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" I gently run a finger over the soft feathers on his head, hoping it will calm him down.

"Mother is dead," he cries.

"That's your mother?" I look back at the ant-ridden bird and instantly wish I hadn't.

"What will I do?"

"It's alright," I soothe. "You can stay with me."

"I can't even fly!" he complains. "I can glide, but I can't fly. Mother was trying to teach me and—" He breaks off into more squawking.

"I'm very sorry about your mother, but everything's going to be okay. I'll look after you from now on, all right? What's your name?"

"Phil."

"Phil, I'm going to keep you safe in my pocket, okay? You won't have to worry about anything eating you."

Phil continues to mourn while I walk aimlessly through the jungle.

* * *

Covered in bugs, sweat, and a film of mossy slime, I break through the trees into a small clearing. "Time for a break, Phil. You hungry?"

He pops his little feathery head out of my pocket and chirps, "Yes! Yes!"

I hand him a cracker to nibble on while I eat the other peanut butter and jelly sandwich Richard packed me. The peanut butter reminds me of Claire. _Has she birthed little baby Aaron yet? Has Charlie recovered from his heroine withdrawals? Has Ben released Sayid, or has the situation with Locke changed that negotiation?_

A twig snaps off in the distance, and I jump up. "Who's there?" I catch a glimpse of who it is, and my sandwich slips through my fingers and falls in the dirt. "Mom?"

My mother darts behind a tree, and I brake out in a wild sprint after her. She glances back at me from time to time, to check if I'm following her, and then she's gone. I spin around in a circle, calling for her. She appears again, and I follow her down a different path, blinded by the shock of seeing her face. It's been a year since I've seen her in person because I didn't have the money to visit home during school breaks. What I wouldn't give to go back and do it all over.

Once again, she disappears into thin air.

_You're going insane, Cora. You're seeing things, just like Jack did. None of this is real._

I cry out and fling a rock in no particular direction.

"You lost your mama, too?" Phil asks.

I curl up on the ground and allow myself to wallow in my misery.

* * *

Day 3

I stand at the brink of the ocean. My toes slowly disappear beneath the grains of endless sand that washes away with each wave that crashes ashore. I sink a little lower with every wave, like Kate used to do.

It would be faster to drown.

Maybe that's the secret. If I die in this dimension, will I be rebooted in my own? Will it be like hitting the reset button, and I'll wake up back on my dorm bed, drowning in popcorn?

I think about how much I want to see my mother again, my sisters, my brother. I miss them all so much.

"Where are we going?" Phil asks.

Sunshine glistens off the top of the water as I wade in deeper, the ocean coming up to my thighs. It's warm and inviting, like a bath.

A strong hand grabs hold of the back of my neck in a vice-like grip and plunges me into the ocean headfirst. The world goes dark, cold, wet. I cannot breathe. I struggle against the force pinning me underwater, but it refuses to relent. Just as I'm about to lose consciousness, the hand yanks me back up. I gasp wildly for air.

Just as soon as I take a breath, I'm forced back underwater. My arms claw wildly at my captor, but the hands never loosen their grip. Waves crash over me with such force I'm practically glued to the ocean floor. I'm pulled back up, and I quickly fill my lungs with air right before I'm submerged all over again.

_Fight, Cora! Fight, Cora, or he's going to kill you!_

I'm being pushed down again when I suck up enough air to scream, "Stop!"

"Why should I stop?" a man's voice says in my ear.

I claw at his fingers. "I don't want to die!"

I'm thrown backwards into the sand with alarming force. Heat shoots up my arm from where the sand has been slowly baking in direct sunlight. I roll over and stare up at Jacob, who actually has an expression for once—pure fury.

* * *

"Eat," Jacob orders.

I stare down at the wooden bowl filled with soup and slosh around the contents. It smells of salt water and not much else. Although that may just be because I still have saltwater up my nose from my near drowning.

"It doesn't have meat in it," Jacob assures me. "Eat."

I'm seated inside the foot statue. It's pretty much barren except for a tapestry Jacob's weaving, a small campfire, and a wooden chair. Jacob has been alive way too long for this to be his home. This place would have bored me to tears in a week, let alone 2000 years or so.

There's also the small little fact that Jacob has had the wolves this entire time. The whole pack is here, lounging around on the stone floor.

Phil is perched on a rock near the fire. He was soaked through and through in my pocket, and now his tiny green feathers bake dry from the heat of the flames.

Jacob slurps a spoonful of soup. "I'm sure you have questions."

I have the urge to fling the bowl at his face. "Oh, so _now_ you want to talk to me? I was here earlier, and you were nowhere to be found."

"You weren't ready yet," he answers nonchalantly.

"Ready for what?"

"The truth."

"Do I have a baby?" I ask all in a rush. It's such a relief to get it out in the open. "I saw a picture of myself holding a newborn. Is it mine?"

"That's your first question?" Jacob looks amused. "Yes, you have a child in the near future."

"Whose?" I'm leaning forward so much I'm practically in the campfire.

"That," Jacob says, "is completely up to you."

I fill my mouth with soup so I don't swear at him. "The other survivors . . . Jack and Kate and Locke and Sayid and . . . Hugo. Why aren't they on your list? Why am I the only one?"

"There are plenty of reasons why people are removed from my list." He drains the last of the soup and wipes his lips on the back of his sleeve. "Your return to the island was the most essential determining factor." Jacob finishes his food and places the bowl at the edge of the fire. "Once you eat, meet me outside. We have a lot of work to do."

I intentionally linger on the last few bites.

* * *

"Attack me."

So I do.

With one hand on my stomach and another on my neck, Jacob uses my own momentum to lift me up and flip me over.

"What are you," I gasp in pain, "a Kyoshi Warrior?"

"Get up," he snaps. "We'll try it again."

* * *

Day 4

Jacob instructs me in the brutal ways of Krav Maga, and I earn a black eye and bloodied nose for my attempts. Unlike the relatively gentle teachings of Alex and Ben, Jacob is ruthless in his instruction, oftentimes hitting me so hard that it takes every ounce of willpower to get back up.

"Stand and face me," Jacob orders.

I sway to my feet, again and again, only to be knocked back down, another dark bruise added to my body.

"You're not fast enough," he chides. "Block me this time. Don't let me hit you."

I give it my honest best effort, a smoldering wrath building up inside me, but no matter how quick I attempt to deflect his fists, they always manage to strike me down.

I can hear the disappointment in his sigh. "Get up. We'll try again tomorrow."

At night I learn the art of meditation. Without touching me, Jacob instructs on how to snap someone's arm in half, and then we pause to meditate afterwards. I learn where exactly to hit someone to break their nose, and then I learn how to meditate afterwards. I learn how to snap a neck, and then I, once again, practice meditation.

I'm getting some mixed signals here.

* * *

Day 8

I can now hit a bull's-eye without even trying. It feels so natural to whip out an arrow and notch it against my bowstring. Jacob makes me practice on moving targets as well. He throws flat pieces of wood up in the sky, and I have to shoot them down. After target practice, we go for a long run so I can practice moving silently through the jungle.

By the end of the day, I'm so tired I forget to inquire about dinner.

* * *

Day 16

I feel stronger than I've ever felt before in my life. Jacob had to give me a pair of his plain cotton pants because I no longer fit into Ben's kakis. It's not a drastic weight loss by any means, but I've noticed a change for the better. The fat usually pooling around my stomach has diminished, especially around the curve of my waist, so I actually have a shape now. It motivates me to keep on going when I'm near exhaustion.

* * *

Day 23

I've spent almost a month with Jacob, training nonstop—day, and night. Which makes his farewell that much more random.

"You're kicking me out of the foot? What gives?" I yell. "And here I was thinking we were friends."

He hands me my backpack and calls for the wolves to follow me out. "It is time for you to go out on your own."

"Why now?"

"Because now I don't have to worry so much about you getting yourself killed." And with that, he seals the foot closed behind me.

* * *

"Eddard?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"You know you don't have to follow me, right? You and your pack are free to go."

"And where would we go?" he asks. "Are you trying to politely announce that we are unwelcome traveling companions?"

"No, no, no!" I look at the pack of curious wolves—11 in total—and smile. "You are more than welcome to come with me. I just wanted to let you know you have other options."

Jacob explained things to Eddard about the happenings of his wife. He now knows that Ana—the woman responsible for shooting and killing Catlyn—is dead. His bloodlust has ceased. Now he focuses all of his attention on his growing pup, Brandon.

I'm heading towards the section of the island where Jacob said the Swan Station is located. Hopefully Desmond will know what my dream means.

"Cora, I smell humans."

"Shhh!" says a young girl's voice in the distance. "Something's coming!"

"Eddard," I command quietly, "you and your pack take refuge, out of sight. I'll find out who they are."

"Yes, my lady."

I slink down low, like Jacob taught me to, and string my bow, slowly making my way towards the voices. I hear upwards of three now, and one of them is male.

"Girls, girls," an older man's voice says kindly, "calm down. It's probably just another boar. They're everywhere. Just stay close, and you'll all be fine."

I peek at them from between the leaves of a fern. I recognize Libby and Bernard, but I don't recognize the other three. I decide to announce my presence.

"It's the woman Ana captured!" one of the mystery girls shrieks.

"The one with the monster!" a small girl with glasses yells, seeking shelter behind the others.

"I come in peace," I announce, and then I cringe. "That sounds so stupid when you say it aloud. Sorry to scare you all. My name's Cora . . . but I guess you already know that."

"Please," Bernard begs, holding out a protective arm to shield the women. "Don't hurt us. We don't want any trouble."

"Why would I hurt you? I'm here to help you."

A tall, muscular girl pushes her way to the front of the group. She shakes brown hair out of her eyes and stares me down. "Why should we trust you? That thing you sent after us almost got us all killed."

"The smoke monster?" I snort. "Sweetheart, I don't own that thing, or control it, or summon it, or whatever it is you think I did. I'm just as afraid of it as you are."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Libby pipes up.

"Because if I wanted to harm you," I say, motioning at my bow and arrows, "I would have killed you by now without you knowing where I was hiding."

I hear the young girl with glasses whisper, "Oooo, she's got a bow and arrow. I'm _so_ scared."

I pull out Locke's whistle and fill it with air. Even though no sound reaches my ears, Eddard and his pack swarm around me.

The sarcastic girl with glasses jumps back and clings to Libby's side. "Okay, I changed my mind. I really am scared."

"Eddard," I say, "these are friends. They are not to be harmed."

"Yes, my lady."

"You all know my name," I address the newcomers. "You mind telling me yours?"

"My name is Bernard. And this is . . ."

"Libby," the blonde says.

_Hugo. I need to bring them together before something bad happens to her._

"I'm Hannah," the tough looking one who pushed her way to the front announces. Her brown hair is a mess of frizz in desperate need of a brush.

"Lydia." I'm barely pushing 5 feet, and this girl is pushing 6. Even though she towers over me, she looks too young-faced and kind to pose any kind of threat. Her dark brown hair is cut right above her shoulders, wavy from the humidity, and slightly uneven from not being trimmed since the crash. Her hazel eyes shine through dark black lashes rivaling my own. She gives me a shy smile and looks away.

"And what's your name?" I ask the cowering girl with glasses.

"I'll tell you whatever you want," she says in earnest, "as long as you don't feed me to your wolves. I'll talk!"

I sigh. "I just need your name."

"Indiana," she answers, pushing her glasses farther up her nose.

"You guys hungry?" I ask.

"Hungry?" Lydia snorts. "We've got more food than we know what to do with."

Hannah gives her a furious look. "Shut up! What are you doing?"

"I'm not here to steal your food," I grumble. "I was just asking in case any of you were hungry. I have some food in my pack—Wait . . . what do you mean?" I ask. "Where did you get food?"

"Food was just falling right out of the sky!" Indiana burst out.

Lydia begins to sing quietly to herself, "It's raining food, Hallelujah! It's raining food, every kind of food!" She turns to Indiana, and the two share a laugh.

_Wait a second . . . the food drop offs were for the Swan Station workers! _"Lydia!" I exclaim.

She spins around in fright. "What?"

"This food that fell from the sky, can you show me where you found it?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. You guys remember where it landed?"

"I do," Hannah announces. "Come on. It's this way."

* * *

The food crate is full of all different types of Dharma labeled meals. Bernard's group have certainly not gone hungry because there are quite a few provisions missing. But for once in my life, I don't care about the food. There's something else on my mind.

I start searching the surrounding area for a vine-covered door. It has to be around here somewhere!

"What are you looking for?" Bernard asks.

Then I see it.

I see it!

I run over and rip away vines until the Swan Station logo shines through. I start banging on the metal door with my fists, just like in my dream.

The door swings open and a man dressed all in bright yellow comes storming out, a rife loaded and pointed at me. Slowly his rife drifts down towards the ground. Muffled speech barely reaches me from behind his mask. "It's you," Desmond says in amazement.


	21. Whatever Happened, Happened

Desmond raises his rifle and aims it at my head. "What did one snowman say to the other?" he asks.

_Crap, crap, crap, what was the joke? _"Smells like carrots!" I yell, suddenly remembering.

He drops his aim again.

"You don't have to wear that suit anymore, Desmond. We're not under quarantine."

Without a moment's hesitation, he rips the helmet off. "Bloody hell . . . You're really her," he drawls in his thick Scottish accent. "You're the girl from the movie."

"What movie?" I question. "Where is this movie?"

"What's going on?" Bernard asks. "Cora, who is this man?"

"You better come inside, brotha." Desmond points a finger at me. "I think the better question is who is _she_?"

* * *

A few crackles on screen, a few dips in the weathered sound, and the movie finally projects on the wall. It begins exactly how the Swan Station orientation is supposed to start. The obnoxious 70's music starts blaring over the loudspeakers while a Dharma logo flashes. Then Dr. Pierre Chang begins to speak.

"Welcome. My name is Doctor Pierre Chang, and this is the orientation film for Station 3 of the Dharma Initiative." I notice the stiffness in his posture. He's rigid as an ironing board, and his voice has a worried edge to it. "In a moment you will be given a simple set of instructions for how you and your partner will fulfill the responsibilities associated with this station." Chang then goes into a brief history of Dharma—why it was founded and by who—and a video of two polar bears fighting flashes on screen.

For the first time since it happened, I think about the polar bear Sawyer shot. _Why did it have my mother's name? Was I the one who named it? Raised it?_

"You and your partner," Chang continues uncomfortably, "are currently located in Station 3, the Swan, and will be for the next 540 days. Now, Station 3 was originally constructed as a laboratory where scientists could work to understand the unique electro-magnetic fluctuations emanating from this sector of the island. Not long after the experiments began, however, there was . . ." His eyes dart off-screen for a fraction of a second. ". . . an incident. And since that time, proper protocol has been observed. Every 108 minutes, the button must be pushed. From the moment the alarm sounds, you will have 4 minutes to enter the code into the microcomputer processor. It is highly recommended that you and your partner take alternating shifts. In this manor you will stay as fresh and alert as it is of the upmost importance that when the alarm sounds, you enter in the numbers correctly and in a timely fashion. Until your replacements arrive, the future of the project is in your hands. Congratulations, and good luck."

Someone clears her throat off-screen, and the camera slowly pans over to . . . me.

Or, at least I think it's me. I sure hope it's not.

Deep purple half-moons sag under my bloodshot eyes, so I look like the undead. My matted hair frizzes out in little wild spirals here and there at random, like I haven't brushed it in days. I smile encouragingly at Doctor Chang, and then at the camera, but my smile is off. Crazed.

"Desmond Hume? Desmond, if you're watching this, I need you to trust me. I'm here to help you. You want to see Penny again, yes? I can help you get back to her, but you're going to have to help me first. Speaking of me . . . Hello, Cora," I croak in a voice that's both my own and not at the same time. "I don't remember much," I pound at my forehead with a clenched fist, "God, I don't remember . . . but I do remember Walt. You need to find Walt. Find Walt. Keep him safe." I start laughing and end up spacing out at something off screen. "There's so much I was going to say, but I . . . _can't . . . REMEMBER!_" And then I go completely nuts for some reason. The rest of the film dies out, and the hatch falls into an eerie silence.

"You mind explaining to me how you're in a video from the 70's?" Desmond asks. "You haven't aged a day."

It comes tumbling out. "I'm an Elf."

Indiana leans in close to Lydia and whispers, "I _told_ you she was crazy."

"What's this about Penny?" Desmond grows increasingly irate with each question. "How do you know about Penny? How could you have known we were together when we didn't even meet until 1994? Tell me!"

Eddard and Theon emit a low warning growl, and Desmond takes a step back.

"Desmond?" I ask calmly. "Do you believe in the unexplainable? I am the unexplainable. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

"So, can you do it?" he asks, breaking the silence. "Can you get me off this bloody island?"

_I sure hope so. _"I'm trying to get everyone off this island." I resort back to the most convenient of lies. "See this?"

"The little scar there? Yeah, I see it."

"Got knocked on the head and haven't been able to remember a thing ever since. So, for the time being I'm winging it." My hand flies to my backpack. "Oh, the film! I forgot . . . Desmond, help me set it up. I have another roll of film to watch."

The footage begins with a close-up of Juliet's face. She leans away from the camera with an annoyed smirk. "James, what is that?"

Sawyer's voice blasts through the speakers. "Bought it with my last paycheck. Pretty neat, huh?"

Juliet smacks the lens. "Get that out of my face."

The footage abruptly cuts to a shot of the Barracks courtyard. Dozens of Dharma workers walk across the screen. In the background of the shot, I'm in a heated badminton battle against baby Ben and Miles.

Miles Straume.

_The freighter! Oh, God, I forgot again!_

Suddenly the film jostles and a voice chants, "You have a video camera? Let me see! Let me see! Ooooo, it's so old!"

"Get off me, you little Gremlin!" Sawyer grumbles. "I'm trying to capture everlasting memories!"

"Can I be one of the memories?" the voice begs.

"Sure, kid. Say cheese."

The camera angles downward and lands on Indiana, who smiles and pushes her glasses up her nose. "Hello, world!"

Everyone, including the wolves, turns back to look at her.

Indiana's eyes stay wide open in a daze. "Guys, I'm really freaked out right now."

"Hey, James?" another voice asks from off screen. "Do you know where—oh, please don't film me." The camera focuses on Lydia, who desperately tries to dodge it.

The film cuts to scenes of picnics and group activities out on the lawn. There is a short segment of me teaching a class of children by a white horse.

The film cuts again, and a little strawberry-blond girl pops on screen. "Where did you get that?"

"Borrowed it from my dad."

"Wow! I've never seen one before."

"Annie," my voice says, "it's on. Go."

"I shall release the beast!" Annie opens the door to a tiny animal carrier, and a furry little kitten comes barreling out. With a quick pounce, the kitten playfully attacks, climbing up Annie's leg. "No, you're supposed to go through the obstacle course! Ouch, Rainbow. That hurts!" But the girl is laughing too much for her pain to be taken seriously.

Another cut in the film. "Come on, sunshine," Sawyer begs.

Juliet throws a shoe in his direction, but she's not truly angry because she's laughing. "I'm not undressing until you turn that stupid thing off."

_Uh. . . ew_.

The film then switches to a party. People flash by the camera, but it is focused on Juliet, who is out on the dance floor. I think the party is taking place in the rec room, but I'm not entirely sure.

Then the screen goes black, but sound still crumbles through the speakers. Someone is breathing heavily. A rustle. A flash of bright white, and then the camera focuses on my face, glistening with tears. The only light filters in from the moon behind me. "I made it out, but they're still looking for me. I don't have time. I don't have anything." My tired eyes flicker shut from what looks like lack of sleep. "They're lying to me. They took her away. She's mine, and they won't let me have her back. They think I'm crazy . . ." My voice hitches, so I take a deep breath and look back into the camera. "My God . . . what have I done?"

"Cora?" says someone off screen.

The camera falls, and then there is screaming.

The tape ends.

* * *

Locke has found us somehow. I don't know when he left the Barracks, or if it was voluntary, or who else is now beyond the fence. I'm trying to care about what's going on around me, but I'm lost deep in a state of shock.

"Cora?" Locke gives my shoulder a small nudge.

It's enough to snap me back to reality for a moment. "What?"

"You've been staring at that blank wall for the past half an hour. Penny for your thoughts?"

I run my fingers over my eyes. "My thoughts are a little scrambled right now."

We both jerk as the alarm beeps out a shrill warning over the loudspeaker. Locke abandons me with haste and fascination for his newfound obsession.

Indiana plops down on the hatch sofa beside me. Phil, who took an almost instantaneous liking to Indiana, is perched on her shoulder. "Did you ever run into more survivors after you left our group?"

"Who are you looking for?" I ask.

Lydia leans up against the back of the couch, sighing. Hannah leans against the far wall, intensely observing Locke, Desmond, Bernard, and Libby.

"My mother," Indiana replies.

"Are you looking for your mother, too?" I ask Lydia.

At eighteen, Lydia is the oldest of the three girls. Lydia and Indiana have formed a sisterly bond, and Lydia usually makes it a point to braid Indiana's long hair at least once a day as some sort of therapy. She looks extra melancholy today. With a quick swipe she pushes her short dark hair behind an ear. "No. I'm here by myself." She snorts and throws a limp hand in the air. "This was supposed to be a graduation gift."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I were," she says in a faraway voice. "I always wanted to travel abroad, so my parents surprised me with a trip to Australia. It was supposed to be my first great adventure before college. Go figure, right?"

Indiana saddens until I fear she is about to cry. At fifteen years old she is the youngest of the three girls, and although I can tell she is trying very hard to seem undisturbed by our situation, there is no denying it has gravely affected her. Phil nibbles affectionately at strands of her hair in an effort to cheer her up. "We weren't even seated next to each other. I was in the tail and my mother was near the engine. I don't know where she is."

"Hey," I tell her, taking her face in my hands. "I'm gonna go search for some people—some survivors from the middle of the plane. They crashed on the beach, not too far from here. Your mother might be among them. You can come with me, if you'd like."

Indiana nods in agreement and looks at my hand. "Was your husband on the plane?"

I pull away in surprise. "No."

"You must really miss him."

Memories flood me like they did with my mother and sisters and brother. I realize that part of my homesickness is actually for Ben. "Yes," I say, slightly stunned at the realization. "I . . . I do miss him."

"Then maybe it's time you go back home to him," Locke comments from the kitchen. I didn't realize he was listening in.

"Locke," I ask, "why did you leave the Barracks?"

John smiles and picks up a bowl Desmond left out from his earlier cereal lunch. "Wasn't where I'm meant to be."

I motion around the room with my arms. "And this is?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'll find out soon enough. Why did _you_ leave?"

Nope. Not _even _going to go there. "I'm trying to bring the people from the beach back beyond the fence. They're not safe on their own." _Especially without all the key players—Jack, Locke, Sayid, and even Kate. Now that I know I'm the only one on an official "list", anyone and everyone else is a sitting duck._ "And you heard what I said on the tape. I need to find Walt."

"Do you mind if I join you?" Bernard jumps in. "I've been looking for my wife, Rose. I'm hoping she might be at the beach."

I give him an encouraging smile, knowing all too well that Rose _is_ at the beach. "Of course." Locke turns away to inspect more of the hatch, and I call him back. "Girls?" I ask Lydia, Hannah, and Indiana. "Could you start packing yourself a backpack? Desmond, could you please show them where the provisions are?"

"Sure thing, sista," he says, waving a hand for the girls to follow.

Once they leave, I turn to John with a lowered voice. "What happened? After I left?"

John sucks in a breath and scratches at his chin. "Well, I'm not sure. I was locked up until they threw a bag over my head and tossed me out into the jungle."

I don't know how to ask. "Did . . . was Ben . . . angry? At me?"

Locke's eyes soften at my question. "I imagine he was upset. I'd be pretty upset if my wife kept putting herself in danger every time I turned around."

"I'm sorry I hit you."

"Oh, you had reason to. I'm sorry I blew up your submarine."

"No you're not."

He chuckles.

"The whistle you made me? It ended up working. Thanks."

"My pleasure."

I hold out a hand. "I guess this is goodbye, for now at least. I don't know when I'll see you again."

Locke shakes my hand with a smile. "Take care, Cora. And try opening up your ears a little more. The island is talking to you. It's up to you to listen."

* * *

Locke stays at the hatch while the rest of us depart in search of the survivors.

Birds jabber about us as we travel through the jungle. Despite their loud voices, there is something much more annoying stuck in my head. "I'm the singing salmon, spending all day jamin'."

Lydia laughs. "What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you ever seen Gravity Falls?"

"What's that?"

"Oh . . . right. It hasn't come out yet."

"What hasn't come out yet?" Indiana inquires, hustling to keep up.

"It's a cartoon I used to watch back home," I tell her. "I think you'd like it."

"What do you mean it hasn't come out yet?" Lydia asks. "How'd you watch it?"

"Do any of you know what Doctor Who is?"

Hannah snorts. "You mean that geeky show on BBC?"

I catch Lydia rolling her eyes in contempt. "It's not . . . well, yeah, okay. It's geeky. What about it, Cora?"

"Well, basically I'm the Doctor." I laugh at their expressions.

Indiana looks excited. "So . . . you, like, know about the future?"

"Tell us something!" Lydia begs.

"I don't know," I say. "I think that's cheating."

"Please? One thing!"

"Alright, alright. There is a plague that will strike at the major powerhouses of the world. A plague so fierce and deadly that hardly any young people will survive it."

Indiana stares intensely, enthralled. "What is it?"

I'm impressed with myself for being able to keep my composer. I don't even crack a smile. "Bieber Fever."

Lydia cringes. "It sounds terrible."

"You have no idea. You get feverish and hysterical. You froth at the mouth for no good reason and thrash about without warning. I lost many friends to Bieber Fever." I make the sign of the cross over my chest. "May they rest in peace."

* * *

We make it to the beach by evening. The survivors have settled into permanent tents with a little bamboo kitchen and troughs full of rainwater. I raise a hand and motion for the rest of my group to stay put while I approach alone.

I spot Hugo first. He's seated next to a small campfire near the outskirts of the beach. He shoots up from his seat when he sees me. "Whoa, dude. Uh, hey, Sayid! Sayid! It's her!"

"You," Sayid's voice bellows. I look up and find him charging at me from across the camp. When he's about twenty feet away, Sayid pulls out a knife, and I instinctively notch an arrow on my bow just as quickly.

I hold the string taught against my cheek, aimed right at his left eye. "You better put that thing down before someone gets hurt," I warn. "Drop it, Sayid."

He glares at me, his knuckles growing white from his grip on the handle.

"Drop it, now," I say, louder.

"We haven't hurt her, Dude. Just take her and leave," Hugo pleads. "Sayid, come on. Just let her take her."

"What are you talking about?" I ask Hugo, my bow still aimed at Sayid.

"Your people," Hugo answers, backing up. "We have one of your people."

* * *

Jane sits alone inside a tent, with an air of stubborn dignity. Someone has bound her hands together behind her back with a string of vine. Her refusal to meet anyone's eye has no meek connotation. She keeps her head held high with an expression that makes it perfectly clear that the survivors are but a mere nuisance. Her long black hair is pulled back into a braid. Every muscle on her lean body is coiled and ready to react. I think back to the first time I met her. She was the one who rescued Ben and me from the survivors who had hopped the sonic fence.

When she notices me, her expression barely changes at all. "It's about time," she says calmly. "I've been waiting here for two days."

"You got caught," I say in disbelief. "I thought you people were masters of the jungle?"

"Caught?" she spits out with a look of amusement. "By these fools? Hardly. I let them think what they want to think."

"Really?" I kneel down in the sand and use Sayid's surrendered blade to cut Jane's vine handcuffs. "Because you're tied up in a tent guarded by three men. It looks to me like you're their prisoner."

"You should learn not to take things at face value," she says, staring intently out the tent flap. "I've been waiting here for you. I knew you would turn up eventually."

"Waiting for me?"

"I was sent to retrieve you." Jane's dark eyes flicker up to focus on me. She has one of those deceivingly youthful faces that can either be twenty-five or forty-five years of age. There are the tiniest of wrinkles forming around her eyes and mouth, but the rest of her skin is impeccably smooth. Her sharp eyebrows knit with worry. "There is a danger approaching from off the coastline, and Ben no longer feels safe with you wandering around outside the fence."

"Ben can stop worrying about me," I grumble. "I'm not a puppy that needs pampering."

"Ben figured you might say that." Jane smiles. "He wanted to tell you himself, but you should know that you are now our leader. It's official."

_What? Oh, no. This is bad. I don't know what I'm doing. How am I supposed to govern these people?_

_ Wait._

_ Now I can grant asylum to anyone I want. I can protect everyone. I can save characters from their original fate!_

"We should get moving." Jane moves to exit the tent, so I follow her out.

* * *

Indiana has found her mother. The two haven't broken their embrace since we arrived. Bernard and Rose have reunited as well. The only person at camp that doesn't look happy is Sayid.

"I'd like to speak with you, Sayid," I tell him. I sense Jane behind me. "Alone, please."

Jane gives me a disapproving look.

"For just a second," I say. "I'll keep Eddard by my side." As soon as she leaves, I dive into the only plan I could think of. "You're angry with me, aren't you?"

"Your powers of deduction are astounding."

"Then you're angry at the wrong person."

"And who exactly _should _I be angry with?" he asks sarcastically.

"Your name is Sayid Jarrah. You were born in Tikrit Iraq and later became a torturer for the Republican Guard, up until the Americans made you—"

He cuts me off. "Why are you reciting these facts? Anyone could have researched these things."

"You once killed a chicken for your older brother because he didn't want to. Your father was displeased with him. He said, 'at least one of my sons will be a man someday'."

Slowly Sayid's indifferent expression morphs into confusion.

"You've spent the majority of your adult life searching for Nadia. Yes, I know about Nadia. I can tell you all about your involvement in her escape from prison if you don't believe me."

"Why are you telling me these things?"

"Because, Sayid, despite what you may think, I'm trying to help you." I wave an arm towards the camp. "All of you. I can disclose your fate if you don't do as I say. Trust me, it doesn't end well. And in order to help protect you, you're going to have to trust me."

"And why should I just you?"

"I'm not the one who snapped the neck of a complete stranger who was just trying to feed you."

"You kidnapped Claire."

_"I _didn't do anything!" I hiss. "That was the old leader. Now that I'm in charge, I can make sure nothing like that ever happens again." Sayid turns away to look at the survivors. "Feel free to stay here," I continue, "but I'm taking back anyone who wishes to protect themselves from what's to come."

"And what would that be?" he calls to me as I walk away.

"Stay here at the beach if you want to find out."

* * *

The vote is unanimous. With Indiana, Lydia, Hannah, Bernard, and Libby's testament, the remaining survivors are all too eager to leave the beach in search of actual housing.

Jane helps me navigate our way back to the Barracks, but I'm starting to get a sense of the island on my own.

"Where are they going?" a bird asks. "Where are they going?"

"How should I know?" his companion replies. "Humans are always coming and going."

Their debate gets loud enough to warrant a yell for them to shut up.

"What's wrong?" Jane asks.

"These stupid birds won't shut up. _'Where are they going? Where are they going?'_ Over and over. It's driving me nuts. Why can't they just mind their own business, or at least keep their thoughts in their head?"

A curious voice behind me asks, "You can hear them, too?"

I turn around and find Walt. "What?" I ask. "The birds?"

"Yeah," he says, tugging on Vincent's leash. "You can hear them? Hear what they're saying?"

"I can understand what all animals are saying. Why? Can you?"

Michael tugs Walt back. "Don't talk to her," he chastises.

"Keep leading them forward, Jane," I instruct. "I'll catch up with you. Listen, Michael. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I need to talk to Walt for a minute."

"You're right," he says. "I don't like it."

"And to be perfectly honest, Michael, I don't care. Listen, you don't have to leave. You can stay right here—"

"Damn right I'm gonna stay right here," Michael snaps.

_Do not roll your eyes. _"Walt, this communication you have with the birds . . . I need you to explain it to me."

Walt looks up at his dad, as if asking for permission.

"Look," Michael complains, "I don't know what you're talking about, but my son and I don't want any part of it."

_Do not lash out. _"Eddard, come here, please."

As Eddard approaches, Vincent begins to growl. "Michael," I say, "this information may mean the difference between life or death for my people and your people. I understand why you don't trust me. I do. But right now you don't have a choice. We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way." I reach down and pat Eddard on the head.

Of course I would never _actually_ use Eddard to attack anyone. He's a nice, convincing bluff, and right now that's just what I need. Michael falls for it. He kneels down by Walt's side and whispers, "Just tell her what she wants to hear."

"I can make them do whatever I want," says Walt. "But it makes me tired."

"You mean you . . . take over their minds?"

"Kinda," he says, eyeing Eddard.

"Walt, this is very important. I need you to explain exactly what it is that you can do. It's alright, Vincent," I tell the nervous dog. "We're not here to hurt you or Walt."

Vincent's ears pull back. "I can understand you, human."

I smile and scratch behind Eddard's ears. "Yes, and I can understand you, too."

"This is crazy," Michael comments aloud. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Michael, I'd like for you to remain silent, please. You're giving me a headache."

"Would you like me to restrain him?" Eddard suggests.

I smile, knowing full well neither Walt nor his father can understand the exchange that just past between us. "No, Eddard. That won't be necessary. Michael is going to cooperate from now on, won't you Michael?"

I discover that Walt has some sort of telekinetic power over all birds. Not only can he hear what they're thinking, but if he concentrates hard enough he can completely override their freewill and force them to do whatever he wants. However, his power only works on birds.

_Befriend the Birds_

Why didn't I just write _Befriend Walt_?

* * *

Jane leads us back to the Barracks after frisking the survivors and confiscating all weapons. I instruct the wolves to keep a particularly close eye on Sayid until I can find some handcuffs. Even if he's peaceful, the Others won't trust him. He killed Goodwin in cold blood. It's best not to incite a panic.

Richard is the first to greet us. He approaches Jane with a look of pure relief, reaching a hand out to cup her face, but he drops it when she shoots him a look. "I was beginning to worry," says Richard. "Three days and no word back. I was about to send out a search party."

"No need," Jane replies brusquely. "I told you I can take care of myself."

As more and more curious Others pool around the Survivors, I spot Ben hurrying across the courtyard. He doesn't slow down until he's right in front of me.

"I'm fine—" I start, but he pulls me into a tight hug, and I stop trying to explain.

"Three weeks," he muffles into my hair. "You've been gone almost a month without so much as a sign that you're okay." He pulls away and blinks at the survivors in astonishment, as if he's only just realized they're here. "I really shouldn't be surprised."

"Is it true what Jane told me?" I ask.

"If you're referring to your new leadership role, the answer is yes."

"Then they shouldn't be a problem. Richard?"

Richard pulls his attention away from Jane with a small smile. "Yes?"

"Can you make arrangements for these people? I want every room filled. I don't care who has to share houses. Just make it happen, please."

Richard leads the awestruck survivors down towards the few empty houses nobody wants.

Ben takes my hand and pulls me along. "Claire gave birth almost immediately after you left." I expect him to pull me to the hospital, but instead Ben takes me to a house. "She and the baby are perfectly healthy. I saw no reason for them to remain in the hospital."

Charlie opens the door. "You're back!" he exclaims, and then he covers his mouth with a wince. "Oops. Claire and the baby are taking a nap."

"Oh," I say, peeking in the house from over his shoulder. "That's okay. I'll come back later. Actually, when she wakes up, can you send her over? I want to see Aaron."

Charlie furrows his brows. "Who's Aaron?"

_Backpedal. Backpedal. _"What has she named the baby?" I ask with forced excitement in the hopes of changing the subject.

Charlie seems to deflate a little. "She hasn't yet. My vote is for Turnip Head, but Claire doesn't like it. I also wouldn't be opposed to Charlie II, but she rejected that as well."

I laugh and nudge his shoulder. "Leave her alone." I notice the sags under his eyes and grow serious. "How are you, Charlie? How are the . . . you know."

"Withdrawals?" he asks with a smile. "You can say it, Cora. It's not like it's a secret. I'm doing better. A lot better, actually."

"That's good. I'm glad." I don't know if we're in the hugging stage of our friendship yet, so I pat his arm and turn to leave. "Remember to send Claire over when she wakes up."

I hurry down the porch stairs, and Ben takes my hand again. "Your friends, Jack and Kate, were getting restless, so we put them to work."

"What?"

A half-mile or so from the Barracks lies a long stretch of dirt road. People scrape rocks and other debris off it with long handled rakes, while others flatten the dirt with heavy metal tools. Jack and Kate are in the middle of it all, lifting large chunks of stone into a wheelbarrow.

"What is this place?" I ask.

"Honestly? I have no idea. Jacob instructed us to make a runway, so we're making a runway." Ben releases my hand and reaches around my back to rest it on my hip. "You aren't wearing my pants," he comments.

_A runway? Hm. Ah, yes. Season 6, and the emergency Ajira Flight landing._

I silently observe Jack and Kate. Jack hands Kate a canteen, and she takes a tired swig. "I think they've done enough for today."

Ben tilts his head to the side in disagreement. "Their shift only started three hours ago."

"I think they've done enough for today," I repeat. "I'd like to have them over for dinner. If that's okay with you."

"Yes, alright. I'll tell Pickett—"

"I'm sorry," I interrupt, pulling out of his embrace. "Is that a . . . rhinoceros?"

A massive grey beast hoofs the ground and pulls furiously at a thick leather harness attached to a cart full of boulders. I jog over and inspect the situation.

"Excuse me?" I say loudly. "Hi. Just so we're clear, you agreed to work, right?"

The rhino snorts out a lungful of air, causing dust to swirl up into my eyes. "We have not had the opportunity to meet," his deep voice bellows. "It is an honor, Cora."

"The honor is all mine. I've never had the pleasure of meeting a rhinoceros before. What is your name?"

"Zeus," he snorts.

"Well, Zeus, please tell me you weren't forced into that harness."

"Of course not," he groans. "The humans work equally as hard as I do. I enjoy helping them. It gives me a purpose. However, I am most appreciative of your concern."

"Oh." I pat his flank and smile. "Well, uh, carry on then. It was nice to finally meet you."

Zeus throws his horn in the air and continues pulling.

* * *

"More peas, Jack?" I offer.

"No, I think I'm good." He scoops up a spoonful of instant potatoes and falls silent.

Nobody wants to talk. Kate has been staring at her food since it was served, and before that she was staring at the table. Alex eats in silence, as does Ben.

I clear my throat. "I wanted to explain some things to you two. I need you to understand why I did what I did." I wait until they both look up at me before I continue. "There's something coming to the island. Something very dangerous. I needed to move all of the people from the beach to somewhere safe, and what's safer than behind a sonic fence?"

Jack and Kate exchange looks, and Kate finally takes a bite of her food.

"A group of mercenaries are going to arrive soon, and if you and your people don't stay here, with us, where it's safe, you're all going to die."

"Right," says Jack. He spoons spinach into his mouth.

"Mercenaries?" Alex questions with a look of mortification. "What's a mercenary?"

"What about the people from the cave?" Jack asks suddenly.

"What?"

"Don't tell me you forgot the people staying at the cave." Jack glares at me with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You know, for someone so invested in our safety, you certainly aren't thorough."

_Oh, no._

"Dad, what's a mercenary?" Alex asks. "What's going on?"

Ben rests a hand on my knee under the table. "We'll leave first thing in the morning," he promises.

Alex drops her fork onto her plate with a clang. "I'm going with you."

"NO," I practically scream. I have to keep Keamy and Alex as far away from each other as possible. In the original show, Keamy shoots her dead.

Not in my reality.

No way in hell.

"No," I say more calmly. "I need you to stay here and make sure everyone has successfully moved into their new housing. There's a boy a few years younger than you that just arrived. His name is Walt. You could show him around. Introduce him to the other children."

"I'm not a child," she snaps.

"I know," I say. "That's why I'm counting on you. I really need you to do this for me. The children are frightened, and it would make them feel more welcome if someone closer to their age helped them get settled in."

It's weak bait, but she takes it anyway.

"Fine." She pouts. "Whatever."

Ben and I escort Jack and Kate home. Night has fallen over the island, and a monotonous hum of insects ring steady in the darkness. After they shut their front door, Ben pulls me behind a darkened house and holds me against it.

"What are you—?"

"How do you know mercenaries are coming?" he interrupts, pushing me harder against the house. "How do you know?"

"I . . . I just know."

"Is it Widmore?" he asks.

"Let go of me."

"_Is it Widmore_?" he hisses sharply in the dark.

"Yes, it's him," I whisper.

Ben closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he lets me go. "I'm sorry."

"Ben, I know all about Widmore."

He spins around and his face shines with moonlight. "Then you know why he's here?"

_Okay. Maybe I don't actually know that much about Widmore. _"Doesn't he want to take you prisoner?"

"Me?" Ben exclaims. "What the hell would Widmore want with me? He's here for you, Cora. He's here to kill you."


	22. Follow the Leader

It happens in the shower.

As soon as I undress and the water hits my skin, every inch of me begins to tingle with desire.

Having been raised by a devout Catholic mother, I was never taught anything about sex. We were told not to talk about it, not to think about it, and obviously not to do it, or else we go to Hell.

Now I'm a married woman, and I haven't a clue in the world how to approach the subject.

My fingernails claw into a bar of soap. Fear of Widmore's hired soldiers, and a lingering lust from when Ben pushed me against a house, mix together in an inexplicably complicated rush of pure carnal need.

I never had to worry about this when I was depressed.

_What do I do? Am I allowed to just ask him for it? Do I even want to ask for it? How do you ask for it without sounding stupid?_

_Yes, hello, Ben. Would you like to have sex with me?_

I cringe.

A knock at the door makes me jump, and the bar of soap goes flying. "Are you almost done in there?" Ben calls through the door. "There isn't going to be any hot water left for me."

_How long have I been standing here?_

I shut off the facet, feeling guilty.

* * *

"Did I do something wrong?"

I'm teetering on the farthest side of the bed, away from Ben. It's the only thing I can think to do. Telling him to go sleep on the couch because '_I might spontaneously rip all his clothes off if he gets anywhere near me_' probably wouldn't go over very well, so this is all I've got.

"No," I answer. "Just tired. Goodnight."

I think I'm in the clear until I feel his warm hand on my arm. "Cora, tell me what's wrong."

I roll over to yell at him for touching me, but I end up straddling him, my body pressed against his as I silence him with desperate kisses, our lips crushing together so urgently it's hard to breathe. He's right in front of me, but he's nowhere near close enough for my liking.

One second I'm in control, and then the next thing I know I'm being flipped onto my back, his lips on my neck. It becomes an endless struggle between us, although neither of us is trying as hard as we should if we actually wanted to win.

I hear the rip of Velcro as Ben removes his sling and smiles at my worried expression. "Juliet said I can take it off at the end of the week," he tells me between kisses. "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt anymore."

I stare, transfixed, as he reaches up and pulls his shirt off. Losing control of my hands, I run my impatient fingers over his chest, but no amount of lust can mask my panic when he tries to undress me. I push his hands away when they reach to undo the buttons of my pajama shirt.

"It's okay," he says eagerly. "Alex isn't here."

Good to know, but that's not the reason I'm pushing him away. "Ben," I gasp. "Please . . ."

Before I can finish my sentence, he's returned his mouth to my neck, and my pleas all turn into nothing more than a stifled moan. Thinking I'm desperately trying to ask for something else, Ben stops kissing me long enough to catch my eye, grinning mischievously. "Please, what?"

"_Get off of me!_"

"Oh," Ben utters, flustered. He scoots to the edge of the bed and sits up expectantly. "What do you need?"

Now that he's not so close, it's marginally easier to think clearly. "I need you to stop."

"Stop?"

"I'm not ready. Not tonight. I'm sorry."

"Oh," he repeats, trying very hard not to look dejected. "I just assumed . . . I mean . . ."

"I know."

"Do you want me to go slower?" he suggests, coughing out a nervous laugh. "Everything started escalading a little faster than I anticipated—"

"No," I interrupt.

"Do you . . ." He pauses to scratch the back of his neck. Even with the lights off, I've never seen him so flushed. "Do you want to be on top?"

"I don't want to have sex with you tonight."

Ben's anxious smile slowly turns into a mixture of confusion and disappointment when he realizes I truly mean it.

I feel like an ass. I'm the one who initiated this, and now he's the one who has to suffer. "Ben, I'm sorry." I reach out for him, but he stands up and moves away.

"I don't think you should touch me anymore," he says. "Not for tonight, at least." Ben tucks a pillow under his arm and turns to leave.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"It's safest for me to sleep on the couch for now."

"Please don't."

But he's already heading for the door. "Cora, I am nothing more than a mere mortal man. If I sleep anywhere near you, I cannot guarantee I won't compromise my better judgment. Just say the word, and I'll come back when you're ready."

I flop back against my pillow when he shuts the door behind him. All of the lust has drained out of me, and now all that's left is a hollow loneliness.

I lied to him. I want him to touch me, peal off my clothes, run his lips over my bare skin, but I don't have the strength to overcome the fear of him seeing my body. My mother was thin, and my father still gave her grief about her weight. What if Ben changes his mind after he sees me for what I am? What if he doesn't want what I have to offer? _I_ don't even want myself. Why would someone else?

I don't know if I'll ever stop panicking when faced with intimacy. I was psychologically ruined at a young age, and I don't know if the damage can ever truly be fixed. I don't know if I can ever have a normal, healthy relationship because all I know about marriage stems from my terrifying childhood.

I like Ben, a lot. I may possibly even love him, but a few weeks of kindness towards me doesn't fix twenty years of pain.

I stare up at the ceiling of his room as silent tears trail down my cheeks. I want him to come back. I don't want him to come back. I want to go home.

I wonder if he resents me.

* * *

"Nice glasses."

"You know, I'm not sure if you're being sarcastic or not."

"No, really," I insist. "They look nice."

Sawyer runs a hand through his shortened hair. "How about this haircut? Got it special from Blondie. She's a damn wizard with those scissors."

"It's about time you cut it. You were starting to look like Tarzan. Where'd you get the glasses?"

"I have my ways," he answers ominously.

"Sawyer, tell me you didn't steal someone's glasses."

"Hey," he defends himself, "they were left out under the gazebo. They're fair game! Finders keepers."

"Cora," Ben calls from our front porch. "Are you packed?"

"Yes." The sight of him makes my face warm with embarrassment. "We're waiting on Richard."

Sawyer chuckles to himself.

"What?"

"I guess you two reconciled," says Sawyer. "Girly, you are as red as the sun is bright."

Of course, this only serves to make my face hotter and, undoubtedly, redder.

"You guys taking ol' Jacko with you?"

"Why would we do that?"

Sawyer shrugs. "Might make it easier to bring back the rest of the survivors. Kind of looks suspicious if you and two strange men are the only proof that life exists outside the caves. I'm thinking those cave people might not be so willing to believe your story unless someone they trust is with you."

"And you think that person is Jack?"

"Hey." Sawyer throws up his hands in surrender. "Just a humble suggestion from your favorite island stud. Take it or leave it, kid."

_Maybe he's right. Everybody trusted Jack in the show. Well, mostly everybody. He's probably the best bet for persuading the rest of the survivors. _"You know, that's actually a really good idea. Thanks, Sawyer."

"Do I get a hug before you leave?"

I pull him close before he finishes the question.

"Come back in one piece," he says, vigorously tousles my hair, and wanders off to engage in conversation where he's most likely not wanted.

I flatten out my hair with a smile.

"So, what's all this talk about helping me get back to Penny?"

I turn around and find Desmond, arms crossed. "I'm working on it," I tell him, tapping on my scar. "Head injury, remember?"

_How _am_ I going to get him off this island? I'm trying to protect everyone, and that means keeping them away from the freighter. But the freighter is what brings the helicopter, which is what eventually transports the survivors back home, so where does that leave Desmond?_

"Do you think Locke's alright?" he asks.

"Locke is where Locke wants to be right now."

"Yeah, but it might not be that way for long."

"What does that mean?"

Desmond rubs a hand behind his neck. "I don't know. I just don't think it's smart to leave one person alone in that Hatch. It does things to you."

"How long were _you_ in there?"

"Too long."

_The Hatch is supposed to implode. _I don't know why this thought comes into my head, but for some reason I believe it to be true. "Desmond? Do you still have the failsafe key?"

"How do you know about—never mind." It takes a moment, but he pulls up a key from under his shirt. "This key?"

"That's the one."

"What about it?" he asks.

If I'm wrong about this, I don't know what it will do to the timeline. I'm not even sure what it will do to Desmond. But deep down, for some reason I can't shake, I feel like this is supposed to happen. "You need to use it," I tell him. "I'll pack you a bag. You're coming with us."

* * *

Jack refused to come with us unless Kate was allowed to join. I didn't see a problem with it. Three armed individuals and a wolf against two unarmed individuals—what could go wrong?

The pack wasn't happy with Eddard's decision to join me alone. I told him he doesn't have to come, but, like always, he believes he's indebted to me and wants to personally ensure my safety. Theon argued that the pack is supposed to stay together, but if the pack joins me as a group, Brandon will have to tag along, and he's only two and a half months old. Eddard wouldn't allow it.

So the pack stayed behind. I could hear Brandon whining complaints halfway to the pylons.

"Eddard, I just want to say thank you, again. I hope one day I can be as honorable and brave as you are."

I'm not sure if Eddard is capable of being embarrassed, but if not, this is as close as it gets. Instead of a verbal answer, he licks my hand.

Trekking across the island is long and tiring. The humidity alone is enough to drive a person to madness. Eddard starts panting, so I stop periodically to give him water.

"You're Desmond, right?" Jack asks.

"That's right, brotha. Hey . . . don't I know you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're the doctor. I ran into you at the stadium. You tripped and hurt your ankle while jogging."

"Huh," Jack ponders. "Yeah, yeah, I remember you. How they hell did you end up here? Were you on our flight?"

"No, brotha," Desmond laughs. "That's . . . well, that's a complicated story."

"What'd she say to get you to follow her?" Jack asks, nodding at me.

"Says she can get me off this island."

Jack coughs a laugh. "And you believe that?"

"No offence, brotha, but you're not the one on the video."

Before Jack can ask any more questions, Kate cuts in.

"Cora, what will you do if someone doesn't want to come back with us?" It's the first time in a long time that I've heard her speak. I'm starting to think Jack convinced her to let him do all the talking.

"I don't think I'll have a problem convincing them. People enjoy security. Why wouldn't they come with us?" I catch Jack and Kate exchanging looks again. "What?" I ask. "If you want to say something, just say it."

They both fall silent.

It begins to rain. The drops fall in soft patches at first, but it quickly turns into a downpour that soaks right through our clothing. The ground beneath my feet softens into slippery landmines of mud. _Gotta love that island weather._

I feel someone next to me. "Shephard raises a good point," Richard comments under his breath. "What's your plan for the people who don't want to leave?"

"I don't have one," I admit. "I'm hoping it won't come to that."

It rains mercilessly. At the halfway point, Desmond breaks away from our group and heads towards the Hatch.

I wave goodbye. "Good luck, Desmond. Make sure Locke is out of there before you do it."

He nods, disappearing into the trees. "I'll see you all in another life."

* * *

"You said there were people here," I exclaim. And there might have been people here, once upon a time, but that time has passed. All that remains as evidence of human habitation is an empty suitcase with a broken handle. I kick it in dismay.

"They might have returned to the beach," Ben offers. Thankfully it has stopped raining, so Ben and Richard both lit torches to help light up the path. The moon is hardly any help tonight. "They may have run out of provisions and doubled back for more."

"Right. I guess we'll just—" I hear a high-pitched whirring, like the internal throbbing of a migraine. But I realize it's not a migraine when the black starry sky slowly turns a blinding white, and the whirring grows from an annoyance to an ear-bleeding frequency from Hell. I throw my hands over my ears, but it doesn't help the pain. _Good job Desmond. Good job._

The light fades.

The whirring disappears.

I blink away the black specks from my vision. "Don't worry, everyone. That was just . . . hey! HEY!"

Jack and Kate have taken advantage of the momentary confusion. The two of them run off in opposite directions.

"Jack! Jack, stop! Stop, or I'll shoot!" He doesn't stop, and my fingers twitch against the bowstring.

I can't shoot Jack. It's _Jack_, for God's sake.

Throwing my bow back over my shoulder, I brake out in a sprint after Kate. "Eddard!" I yell. "Bring Jack back, but do not harm him!"

"Cora, don't!" someone yells, and I don't know if it was Ben or Richard.

The forest is a whole different beast at night. My training with Jacob kicks in, but I still stumble over vines and rocks that the moon does not illuminate in the darkness. I rely on sound to track Kate.

I'm running full speed down a slanted path when I sense her, but it's too late. Kate tackles me head on, slamming hard into my midsection and knocking both of us off our feet. I go skidding backwards into the mud, my weapons knocked beyond reach.

White light flashes sharply throughout my vision as Kate brings a swift fist down on my eye. I thrust my palm up hard at the angle Jacob instructed, and Kate immediately rolls off me, screaming in pain and covering her face with her hands. When she moves her hands away, her fingers are covered in blood from her broken nose.

I slog up out of the mud and spin around, searching for my bow.

"Looking for this?" Kate holds up my bow, slick with mud, and smiles triumphantly. When I charge her for it, she flings it high up into a tree. It catches on a branch far out of reach and swings to and fro, silently taunting me.

This time I am the one who tackles Kate. "You don't know what you're doing!" I scream, bringing down a furious fist on her eye. "I'm trying to save you people!"

The sky fills with a chop-chop-chopping. A helicopter belches out smoke, spinning round and round in the dark night sky. It flies over us and disappears.

"Oh, no. It's happening."

"What's happening?" Kate sneers.

I keep her pinned to the ground with my bent arm at her throat. "The beginning of the end."

A sharp pain pierces through my skull, and a stream of blood runs out my nose, dripping down on Kate's face. I reach a hand up, confused, and pull away a red, wet mess. I've never had a nosebleed before. _Why is my nose bleeding? Kate only punched me in the eye. _Heavy and drowsy, my head sways on my neck, and I fall into darkness, unconscious.

* * *

_Two hours and four curling iron burns later, and I'm officially ready for Prom._

_ My little sister, Cassandra, peeks her head into the bathroom. "Mom wants to know if you're ready. She says we have to hurry if we're going to take pictures at the park. It'll be dark soon."_

_ I straighten out my floor-length gown with a halfhearted smile. This is as good as it's gonna get._

_ Capri, Cassandra's twin, pushes the bathroom door open the rest of the way and stumbles in. She gapes at me, and I slowly burn with embarrassment. My father wouldn't buy me a gown, so I had to purchase one from the thrift store with the babysitting money I saved up. It was an ugly gold Prom dress from the 80's when I bought it, but with my mother's help we were able to alter it into something more modern. After spending half an hour squeezing into a corset, the gown finally zips up my back, hugging my voluptuous curves. My golden hair is pinned to the top of my head in a mess of spiral curls. I shine like the freaking sun._

_ I shrug self-consciously. "How do I look?"_

_ "Beautiful," Capri breathes._

_ I snort a sarcastic laugh._

_ "You really do," Cassandra agrees from the doorway. She was always the shyer of the two, and she never says anything for the sake of saying it. You can bet your life that her compliments are genuine._

_ I'm overwhelmed with emotion, but I can't cry or I'll smudge my makeup. "Thank you," I tell them, rushing out the door. I head to the car with my head held just a little bit higher._

* * *

"How do I look?" I mumble to my sisters.

As the fog of unconsciousness starts to clear, I hear the faint mumbling of conversation, although I can't make out what's being said. I open my eyes and my whole face feels gritty. I must have cried in my sleep. The eye Kate punched is swollen so tight I can't see out of it.

Oh, great.

"She's awake."

For a moment I'm stunned. _That's not my sister's voice. Where am I?_

All at once I remember everything. Who I am, where I am, how old I am. It hurts my head.

Boone sits next to me, abnormally beautiful as always. I used to feel sorry for him because it must suck to be more beautiful than the majority of the women you date. He makes a show of flashing my knife within my line of sight. It was strapped to my leg, and now the idiot is gloating that he stole it.

I'm lying on the sand inside a tent. Judging by how strong the scent of the ocean is, my guess is I'm back at the beach.

Jack whips the tent flap open and enters with an expression brimming with smug satisfaction. It's only when I try to sit up that I realize they bound my hands together behind my back like they did to Jane. I'm forced to lie in the sand like a slug.

"Morning," says Jack. "Glad you're awake."

"Where am I?"

"That's not important." Jack squats down beside me, nodding for Boone to leave. "Could you give us a second, Boone?"

"Yeah, yeah," Boone says. Eager to please, as usual, he tucks my knife away and exits the tent.

"Has your nose stopped bleeding?"

I look up at Jack to see if he's still gloating, but his concern seems genuine. "Are you asking because you're curious, or because you actually care?" Sheesh, I feel terrible. My whole body aches and throbs with pain. I wasn't even in this much pain after getting whacked in the chest by Jacob during training. And that's saying something.

"I'm asking because I want to show you something, and I don't want to have to carry you if you pass out again."

I'm in too much pain to be insulted. "How long was I out?"

"Two days."

_How odd. I'm surprised this camp hasn't been burned to the ground yet. Or at least raided silently in the night. If I haven't been retrieved yet, that means either Ben and Richard have abandoned me, or they're nearby waiting for me to tell them what to do._

"What do you want?" I ask.

"What do I want?" Jack shakes his head, smiling. "I want to get off this island."

"Yeah?" I roll my eyes. "Well, take up your complaints with Locke. I was going to let you leave until he blew up my submarine."

"And I'm just supposed to believe that you had nothing to do with it?"

"Yes," I snap. "Because I didn't. Now will you tell me why I'm here?" My stomach growls loudly. "Can I at least have something to eat?"

"Here's what's going to happen," Jack explains slowly, condescendingly, like I'm a child. I swear if my hands weren't bound behind my back, I'd punch him in the face. "You are going to turn off the fence your people hide behind, and you're going to bring back all the people you took from the beach."

"I didn't take anyone," I counter. "They came willingly."

"You're going to bring them here," Jack repeats.

"Why? What do you want with them?"

"I'm gonna get them off this island," he states assuredly.

I have a feeling I know his plan, but I bait him to find out anyway. "You're going to . . . what? Build a raft and sail the high seas in the hopes of reaching civilization?"

Jack laughs with another dismissive shake of his head.

"Have you found Naomi yet?" I ask.

Finally Jack stops acting like an ass and gives me his full attention. He starts four different sentences, gives up, and resorts to staring me down with a particularly amusing Jackface.

"I'm taking that as a yes." I cough up sand. My throat is dry as cotton. "Don't trust her, Jack. No matter what she tells you, she's lying. I already know all about her. What has she told you?"

"She's still unconscious. We got her name, and then she just . . . how do you know about her?"

"The same way I know all about you." I cough again. "I know all about what's going to happen. That woman is here with a freighter full of trained solders sent to kill every man, woman, and child on this island. So if you help her, Jack, _you_ will be the one responsible for the slaughter of your own people."

I think this might be working. I'm hoping Jack is smart enough not to trust a group of individuals he doesn't even know. But when he smiles I realize that the promise of leaving this island has corrupted his common sense.

"You're going to bring my people back to the beach," he repeats. "All of them. Right now."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't," Jack threatens, "we're going to kill your husband."

The tent flap opens, and Boone pushes Ben inside.


	23. Playing Human Hot Potato

"How the hell did you get caught?"

"Asks the woman currently in handcuffs," Ben replies dryly.

"Where's Richard?"

With a small shrug, and a raise of his eyebrows, Ben says, "I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

"Forgive me for not investing in the patented Richard GPS system."

"Stop talking. Both of you," Jack warns. "Boone, move him over there."

Ben's hands have been bound behind him like mine. Boone yanks him to the corner of the tent across from me and forces him to kneel in the sand.

"Cora," Jack orders evenly, "you're going to lead me to your fence and shut it off. And then you're going to tell everyone how wrong you were to bring them to your little suburbs. Understand?"

"She's not going to take you anywhere, Jack," Ben states firmly, staring me down.

"Ben—" I argue.

He cuts me off with a calm finality. "I'm not going to jeopardize my daughter's safety over a whim this lunatic seems to think will result in rescue." Ben shoots a snide look at Jack. "Cora, it's your responsibility to protect your people. Think about Claire and her baby, Sawyer, Juliet, Alex. Do you want them out here? Now? Do you really think now is the best time to have them vulnerable?"

Jack catches my eye, and then he whirls around with an uppercut to Ben's jaw.

"Stop it!" I scream.

"You want me to stop?"

"Jack, you don't know these people anymore than you know me." I yank at the vines twisted around my wrists, but they only cut into my skin. "You're making a terrible mistake."

"Do as I asked," Jack orders. "Turn off your fence."

"You're going to kill us all!"

Jack sends another fist flying. It makes contact with Ben's nose with a sickening crunch. This time the pain is too great for Ben to feign indifference, and I listen as he groans in agony.

It's my mother all over again. I'm forced to sit helpless on the sidelines, watching in horror as someone I care about gets the shit beaten out of them. Only this time I'm actually brave enough to stop it. Using every ounce of strength in my legs, I push up and launch myself in Jack's direction. I slam into his back and send us both sprawling in the sand outside the tent. I flip over and kick him hard in the face, lashing out over and over with a reckless abandon.

"Somebody help me!" I scream, crawling back into the tent towards Ben. Boone doesn't seem to know what to do with all this violence, so he's moved out of the way. I'm hoping that using myself as a shield will save Ben from any further beatings because Jack will be too well mannered to hit a woman. In the show, Ben was everyone's punching bag, but I don't know if he's ever been punched before in this reality. I feel obligated to protect him. "Somebody help me! For the love of God, somebody help!"

"Jack," calls a voice from outside the tent. Kate pushes her way in, her pleas rising louder and louder. "Jack, Jack, stop. Stop it! Stop!" With a grunt, Kate shoves Jack away from me. "We're not savages, damn it! We're not like them, remember? Stop this."

Jack stares her down, and for a moment I'm not entirely sure if any of us are safe from his madness. Luckily Kate seems to be the one thing that can calm him down. The broken nose I gave her has turned a blueish-black to match her swollen eye. It's so strange seeing her look . . . well, ugly. The worst thing she suffered in the show was not being able to shave everyday. Now her face is slightly swollen and her nose is unmistakably broken. For a character that always looked like she just stepped out of a dressing room, it's an unsettling contrast.

Jack spins around, walks towards the beach, and then turns sharply and returns, seemingly in his right mind. Survivors who stayed at the cave include Sun, Jin, Shannon, Boone, and about a dozen others whose names I don't know. They approach with curious caution.

"This is how it's gonna work," Jack tells me. "You're going to take me to the fence and open it. And just to make sure you don't do anything stupid, Ben here will be taken somewhere secret. You see this gun?" Jack pulls out a slim black handgun and hands it off to Boone. Boone ogles it like he's never seen a gun before, and then suddenly feigns indifference, as if remembering he's supposed to be masculine.

_The survivors on the beach never found the marshal's gun case, so they've had to rely on spears to protect themselves._ _Sawyer took the Marshal's gun, so where the hell did they find another one? _"Where did you get that?" I interrupt.

"They stole it from me," Ben rasps.

Jack continues despite the interruption. "Boone is going to hold this against Ben's head until I give the clear over the walkies."

"Walkies?" I ask.

Ben looks up at me, abashed. "They stole that, too."

"Boone?" Shannon yells, quickly walking over to his side. "What are you doing?"

"Boone," Jack commands, "get Ben out of here. Once you have him secured in the area we discussed, message me on the walkie."

"Why are you doing this?" Shannon shrills.

_God, I do not miss having to listen to her everyday. _

She pounces on Jack next. "Why did you give that to him? He doesn't believe in guns," she argues. "He goes on marches!"

"Stay out of it, Shannon," Boone gripes. "This doesn't concern you."

"Oh, stop trying to be a hero," Shannon snaps.

"Jin is coming with me." Boone holds the gun like a limp fish. His obvious discomfort disturbs me. If someone is going to be holding a gun to Ben's head, they better at least know how to work one. Jack must have given Boone lessons for, what? A total of a few hours? I can just imagine Boone accidently pulling the trigger.

"You've never used a gun," I sneer, injecting as much venom into my words as possible. "Are you all dense? You're giving the gun to a _gun control advocate_? Jack, I'm not bringing you anywhere until I know my husband won't be killed by sheer stupidity."

Kate steps forward. "Jack, we should talk about this."

"We already have."

"Not with me," she says, obviously hurt. "Why was I not informed about this?"

"We should give the gun to Jin," someone suggests.

"What? No!" someone else argues. "The guy can't even speak English!"

One by one people begin debating who should be the one responsible for holding my husband hostage. The argument grows louder and louder and louder until Jack yells for silence.

"Kate will hold the gun. Anyone have a problem with that?" His question is met with silence. Jack nods to Boone and Jin. "Show her the area we talked about. Boone, you are responsible for the walkie. Understand?"

"Got it," he says, relieved. He gladly hands over the gun.

Jin stands around, confused, until Sun explains the situation to him in Korean.

I pull once more at my vine restraints, but they do not loosen. The feeling of powerlessness is an overwhelming burden. I look at where Ben kneels in the sand next to Boone, his hands bound behind him like mine. He gives me the smallest of smiles, and I would feel comforted if blood wasn't leaking out his broken nose.

Jin pulls Ben to his feet and shoves him in the direction of the retreating trio.

_How do I know they won't shoot Ben after I open the gate, just to spite me? _It's hard to breathe through the closing of my throat and the quick rattling of my heart. It's been quite a while since my last major panic attack, and for a few moments I cannot grasp onto a coherent thought. Desperate, I resort to _The Hunger Games_ in my time of need.

Fixing my red, teary eyes on Kate, I announce the one lie I believe will save both Ben and myself. "I'm pregnant," I choke out through frightened tears. "Please, don't let them hurt my husband. Kate, please."

I'm no longer faking it. I'm terrified to the bone, and my frantic waterworks springs forth naturally. Tears blur my vision, and I cannot see if I've gained any pity.

Jack keeps me hostage inside a tent until his walkie crackles. "Jack? Jack, can you hear me?"

"Yes," he responds. "I can hear you."

"We're here," Boone says.

"Okay. Hold him there until you get the all clear from me. Understood?"

"Got it." The crackling dies.

Jack doesn't even bother to arm himself with spears or whatever other makeshift weapons the survivors have forged. He knows I'll cooperate from now on.

"What have you done with Eddard?" I ask. _I went after Kate because I thought she'd be easier to fight and bring back. I would have succeeded if I hadn't passed out._

"I don't know an Eddard."

"My wolf," I say. "What have you done with my wolf?"

Jack points ahead. "You mean that wolf?"

Eddard's great grey head has been mounted on a pike near the treeline leading into camp. Flies dart in and out of his open mouth, his jaw parted in a final roar nobody will hear.

I open my mouth to scream, but I never get the chance.

* * *

_I'm weightless. Flying through the sky. Feathery. Drifting._

_ I'm not alone._

_ A helicopter chop-chop-chops behind me. I turn my head and find Lepidus in the pilot seat. Jack, Hugo, Sayid, Desmond, Sun, Claire and Aaron are inside. They do not acknowledge me._

_ These aren't the original "Oceanic Six". Where's Kate? Why is Claire in her place?_

* * *

_ A young Danielle Rousseau is giving birth._

* * *

_Someone has me around my legs. I look down and a little redheaded girl smiles up at me._

_ "Miss Collins? We're going to be late for class."_

* * *

_ Beep._

_ Beep._

_ "More pressure," someone says._

_ Beep._

_ Beep._

_ I feel a needle in my arm. Liquid ice rushes through my veins, calming me._

_ Recite them._

_ 4 8 15 16 23 42_

_ 4 8 15 16 23 42_

_ 4 8 23162342_

_4856738339202847483902039_

_ 6574893029287364657849302095647382910293764738291029_

* * *

_ Martin Keamy has my arrow through his eye._

* * *

"Get me some more water."

With one final violent jerk, my body settles, and my eyes flicker open. I immediately close them. The sun overhead is blinding and only strengthens my already unbearable migraine.

"What happened?" I groan.

"You had another nose bleed. Went into a seizure." Jack dabs a wet cloth against my forehead. "Does this happen often?"

"No," I answer. "Actually . . . well, it happened two days ago. Kate—" I stop myself before explaining further. Reminding Jack that I'm the one who broke Kate's nose isn't going to do me any favors, even though she's the one who threw the first punch. She's the reason I can't see out of one eye.

"What about Kate?"

"I don't know," I say. "One second I was fine, and then the next my nose was bleeding, and I woke up two days later. You tell me. You're the doctor."

_Eddard. _I keep my eyes closed so I don't accidently look at him.

"How far along are you?" asks Jack.

_What? _It takes me a second to realize he's referring to my lie about being pregnant. "About three weeks."

"Are you okay to walk?" I'm not sure if the concern in his voice is genuine or not. I'd like to think that he hasn't become crazy enough to not care about pregnant women.

I rub the last of my migraine away. "Do I really have a choice?"

* * *

I spot what I think is Hurley Bird perched on a high branch of a nearby tree. "I have listened in on your troubles," he says. "I am past my prime, Cora, but I will try to help any way that I can. I have not forsaken my oath." Hurley Bird flies away with a few heavy flaps of his monstrous wings. I watch him soar through the trees until Jack taps me on the shoulder and urges me onward.

Jack and I have been walking through the jungle for hours. Every half hour or so, Jack gives me water and lets me and my imaginary child rest.

"Ladies!" a little tree frog croaks. "Are there any ladies out there?"

"Hello," I say.

"Hello, strange creature!" he replies mirthfully. "Have you seen any ladies around?"

"I'm a lady."

The little tree frog springs through the air and lands on my face. "What good luck!" he croaks. "Would you be interested in bearing my children?"

"What are you doing?" Jack asks.

"Haven't you heard?" It's become a mechanical explanation. "I can talk to animals."

"Right."

"I didn't ask you to believe me," I sneer.

The tree frog climbs all over my face with his gooey little suction-cup hands. "My name is Frogger. What is your name, oh great and glorious queen of the frogs?"

"Cora," I say. "And I'm not a frog. I'm a human."

"Oh, cruel fate!" he cries. "After such a long search I thought I had finally found the one. Cursed fate!"

"Feel free to tag along. You might have better luck finding a lady frog if you travel with us."

"What a cunning creature you are," Frogger says, jumping up onto my shoulder. "You say you are human? I wish I were human like you. What a wonderful species!"

A twig snaps somewhere in the trees, and Jack's confused expression turns to a startled worry.

Rousseau approaches us, head tilted slightly to the side, eyes wide with an emotion I cannot place.

"Danielle?" Jack does not relax, despite obviously meeting her before. "What are you doing here?"

"It's you," she says slowly.

Jack steps between Rousseau and me. "Don't talk to her, Danielle."

"Alexandria. My child," Danielle continues, completely ignoring Jack. "Do you know where she is? Have you seen her?"

"Do we know each other?" I ask.

Rousseau fixes her wide, unblinking eyes on me. "You do not remember me," she finally answers.

I start to give the amnesia excuse, but Jack pulls me away. "Don't listen to a word she says, Danielle. She's with them. She's with—"

But Danielle has other plans. I hear the loud snap of her rifle loading, and I turn around to find her pointing it furiously at Jack.

"Danielle," Jack warns.

"Give her to me," Danielle orders.

"No, no, no, Danielle, don't!" I yell. "Don't kill him. They'll shoot my husband if anything happens to Jack."

"Then come with me," she says. "Nothing has to happen to Jack."

And then a stark naked Desmond crashes through the trees.

"You're a bloody liar!" he shrieks as he makes an advance in my direction. "You lied to me!"

"All right," Jack orders, "everybody back up."

Desmond fixes his glare on me. "You said you know how to get me off this island, and I'm still bloody here!"

I shield my eyes from his naked form. "I didn't say the failsafe key would send you home, Desmond. I said it was a necessary step that _leads_ to your return home."

"Who is this?" Danielle asks. Desmond's nakedness doesn't seem to have any effect on her.

"Don't shoot him either," I tell her. "He's a friend."

"A friend?" Desmond yells. "A friend? That's what I am? You screw with my bloody life and you have the nerve to call me a—"

* * *

_ Ice._

_ A frozen wheel._

* * *

_ Jack, Sayid, Sun, Hugo, Claire and Aaron in a helicopter._

* * *

_ Boone lying in a pool of blood._

* * *

"Is she okay, brotha?"

I come to with a jerk. For the first few seconds after I open my eyes, I am in complete confusion. I sit up and rub the back of my sore head. A disgustingly salty-copper taste is in my mouth. I bring up a hand to get it out and wipe away blood. "Oh, great."

"What has happened, my human?" Frogger hops from my forehead to my nose to my chin. "Tell me why you have fallen!"

"I don't know why, Frogger."

Jack scrunches up his face in confusion. "Are you . . . you mean, you can actually—"

"Jack, if me talking to animals is the weirdest thing you've experienced so far, you need to get out more. Where did Rousseau go?"

"Your crazy French woman took off that way," Desmond says, pointing. "I don't speak French, or I could tell you what she was muttering."

I look up and instantly regret it. "Desmond?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you please put some clothes on?"

Jack is in the process of pealing off his shirt for Desmond to wrap around himself when static crackles through the walkie.

"Jack? Jack, are you there?"

Jack fumbles to pull the walkie out of his pocket. "Boone? Boone, what is it?"

"There's something weird going on. There's this . . . hey, _hey_!" The radio cuts off.

"Boone?" Jack yells. "_Boone?_"

"There's a bird— . . . it's going to—!"

Jack shakes the radio, as if this will improve its reception. "A bird?"

"An enormous bird," Boone answers. "It's—" The radio cuts off again.

"Boone? Boone, what the hell is going on?" Jack smacks at the static filled walkie. "Damnit!" He whirls around to me. "What did you do?"

"Me?" I choke out.

"You say you can talk to animals, and then suddenly they get attacked by a bird?"

"Jack, how could I have done anything? I've been with you _this whole time!_"

"Hear, hear!" croaks Frogger and hops onto the top of my head.

The radio crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes on. "Hello?"

"Hello?" Jack yells frantically. He's so preoccupied with the fact that someone answered that he doesn't immediately recognize Ben's voice.

I spot the knife that Boone stole from me tucked into the waistband of Jack's pants. _If only I could find a way to cut the vines around my wrists!_

"Jack?" Ben asks over the static. "Jack, are you there?"

Jack finally recognizes the voice and slowly blanches. "What have you done with them?"

"Nothing. Yet." Radio static crackles through the walkie.

"Ben?" Jack yells, jamming his thumb on the call button. "Ben?"

"Yes, I can hear you, Jack," Ben replies calmly. "Now it's time for you to listen to me. Give Cora the walkie."

Still lying on the floor from where I passed out, I sit up. "I can't hold it with my arms tied behind me like this."

"I'm waiting, Jack," Ben says.

Jack purses his lips, pacing around like a madman. "Put Kate on first. I want to hear her voice."

"Jack?" Kate's voice sounds through the static. "We're alive. We're all alive. He took the gun."

"Kate? What happened?"

"You'll have the chance to learn all about that later, Jack." Ben is growing impatient. "All three of your friends are alive, but if you want to keep it that way, you'll put Cora on _right now_."

Jack snorts out a burst of air through his nostrils and charges towards me, wielding my knife. He saws off the vines, and I spring to my feet, rolling the soreness out of my shoulders. Jack reluctantly hands me the walkie. "Ben?"

"Are you hurt?"

"No. What happened? Was it Hurley Bird? Is he okay?"

"He's badly injured," Ben answers gravely, "but he's alive. Have you opened the fence yet?"

"No."

"Good," he says, relieved. "I want you to go back to the Barracks. Now. Take the walkie with you. Tell me when you're safe. Jack?"

I hand Jack the walkie. "What?" he snaps.

"If you or any of your people should follow Cora home, I can promise you only two of these hostages shall be returned to you alive."

* * *

"I'm going back out there to help search."

"You most certainly are not," Richard counters. "Ben knows this island like the back of his hand. Just be patient."

"I'll go with you," Jane offers. She's been pacing this entire time like a caged animal.

"It's been hours, Richard!" I say. "What if—"

"There he is," Richard announces, pointing at a small blur in the darkness.

I'm already running down my porch steps. Fighting the soreness of my entire aching body, I run to him, eager to hold him close to make sure he's real. I stop short when I notice the huge mound of feathers in his arms.

"Is he . . . ?"

"No," Ben rasps. "But he's losing a lot of blood. We need to get the bullet out."

* * *

Juliet and Ethan work together on Hurley Bird while I watch behind the operating room glass. Ben tells me Hurley Bird attacked Boone first, unfortunately, which is what gave Kate time to shoot him. Boone's face is a sliced mess now. What a shame.

"So, whose baby is it? It's most assuredly not mine." Ben dabs medicine against my puffy eye and I hiss. "Sorry," he apologizes. "That should do it. Hold this ice pack against it."

"It was the only lie I could think of in a pinch. You're welcome, by the way. If Hurley Bird didn't rescue you, I'm pretty sure my lie would have. Kate seemed to buy it." The frozen pack burns worse than the medicine at first, but it isn't long before my skin goes completely numb. "Your turn. Give me that." I yank the medicine bottle away from him and begin dabbing at the cuts and scrapes covering his face. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Ben remains controlled enough to resist flinching, even though I know this medicine burns like hell itself. "Yes?"

"I think I've seen the future."

He raises his eyebrows.

Frogger peeks out of the little water bowl I gave him to swim in. "Does the future include me finding a lady frog? I'm desperate at this point! She doesn't even need to have smooth skin!"

I press an antiseptic coated cotton swab into a particularly deep cut, and Ben finally grunts in pain. "Oh good," I say. "I was starting to worry you were a cyborg."

"What did you see in the visions?"

_What did I see? _"A frozen wheel."

Ben's lips twitch downwards into a brief frown. "Anything else?"

"The people on the freighter make it to the island. I don't know when, but they do. I've ordered Richard to take everyone to the Temple in the morning. I'd like for them to leave tonight, but he said that might incite a panic and slow us down in the long run."

"Leave?" Ben pulls away from the cotton swab. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Ben, if Jack could shimmy his way up and over one of the pylons, don't you think trained soldiers could do the same? They won't _need _a password to the fence! We are no longer safe here. We need to evacuate."

"Then we will all leave for the Temple in the morning." He keeps his intense eyes trained on me. "All of us are departing, correct?"

I add more medicine to the swab. "Yes."

"And by _all _you mean yourself included, correct?"

I add even more medicine, avoiding eye contact.

"Cora, what are you not telling me?" Ben cups my chin and pulls my face up to look at him. "What is it?"

"These visions I had . . . there was something else. I saw . . ." _Martin Keamy has my arrow through his eye. _"I'm supposed to fight these people that are coming."

Ben retracts his hand. He looks through the glass at Ethan and Juliet as they finish bandaging Hurley Bird's stitches. "Do you know who these people are?" he asks softly.

"The people on the freighter?"

"Their leader," Ben says. "A man named Martin Keamy. Served five years in the US Marine Core before joining several mercenary groups in Uganda. Cora, he's committed more war crimes than I could count on both my hands and feet. And that's only the leader of these people. I'm not even sure how many soldiers he brought with him."

"Are you trying to scare me?"

"I'm trying to bring you to your senses. This man was hired by Charles Widmore, a man who has spent the entirety of his life trying to find this island and kill you."

"I don't even know this Widmore person. Why does he want me dead?"

"I don't know. It's just . . . before he was banished from the island, he said something. Something that insinuated that he knew you would come back someday, and that he would be the one to destroy you, even though you were already dead. It meant nothing to me then. I just took it as the desperate ramblings of someone who lost the game and couldn't cope."

_Great. I have a madman after me, and I don't even know his motive. _

"These people that are coming . . . they're trained killers, Cora. They've been killing people their entire lives. If their mission is to kill you—"

"Then," I interrupt, tightening the cap on the antiseptic, "I guess I'm just going to have to kill them first."


	24. Through the Looking Glass

"Cora, wake up!"

I break through the sleep barrier mid-sob and shoot up into a sitting position, clutching at my neck. A mixture of nausea and confusion swirl through me while I blink away the images from my nightmare. Ben is seated at the edge of the bed, one hand outstretched and resting on my forehead.

"Are you ill?" he asks with worried eyes.

I dry my tears with a shaky hand and wipe my runny nose with the other. Sweat soaks through my pajamas, trickles down my face, and runs rivulets down my back. What's left of my dried up tongue has turned to useless sandpaper. There's a lingering ringing in my ears that drowns out the alarmed squeaks of Mrs. Brisby and her children in the shoebox next to my bed.

"Cora?" I hear Ben call, but it sounds like he's underwater. "Cora, can you hear me?"

I question whether I'm truly awake or not, so I bring up a hand and wiggle my fingers. Everything blurs in slow motion. Ben must be speaking because his lips are moving, but I can no longer hear anything he says. I clamp my eyes shut tight.

_In my nightmare my mother morphed into Eddard. His head was mounted on a wooden spike over and over and over, switching back and forth between the furry head of a wolf and my mother's smiling face. Then it was my own head being severed. I could feel the knife pierce my skin. I could taste the blood in my mouth._

Somehow I've ended up at the kitchen table. Ben is at the stove boiling a kettle of water for tea. I push out of my chair and open the fridge.

"Would you like me to make you something? How about—Cora? Cora, stop."

I dig my hands into the first thing I see. My fingers sink down deep into a leftover casserole and pull out two giant fistfuls. I stuff them both in my mouth, not even bothering to chew, and reach for more. More. _More._

"Put it down." Ben tries to grab hold of my arms. "Cora, put it down."

"Get away from me. I'm hungry."

"Please, stop this," he pleads.

"_Get. Away. From. Me_."

Immediately Ben lets go and backs up, and it's a good thing he does. I grab the entire casserole dish and fling it across the kitchen. It hits the far wall and shatters down a rain of porcelain and potato. I scream until my lungs fold in on themselves and my head begins to burst. I scream at the casserole stain on the wall until my voice box feels like it's been ripped to shreds.

I'm dizzy by the end of it all. My voice comes out in a low and scratchy growl. "They didn't even bury him, those _SONS OF BITCHES!_" My teeth clench together so hard I fear I will break them. _I try to save their sorry asses, so they repay me by killing my friend? They murder my friend, and then they don't even have the decency to bury his body? They put his head on a spike. The HELL? THEY PUT HIS SEVERED HEAD ON A SPIKE! Why would they . . . why . ._ .

I rake my fingers through my disheveled hair, tightening my grip and fighting with myself not to make my scalp bald. Without thinking, I begin to pace here and there and everywhere, struggling to breathe.

_I need to eat something. I need to eat something or I swear to God I'm going to rip every last hair out of my head._

Ben is suddenly close enough to take hold of my trembling hands. "Who didn't they bury?"

"You didn't see him?" I think of his fly covered mouth again and twitch. "They killed Eddard and . . ." _Brandon. I haven't told Brandon yet._ "I need to bring him back. I . . . I need to bury him. I need to go get him."

I try to make for the front door, but Ben holds me by the shoulders and won't let me pass. "You can send someone to retrieve him for you, but you must stay with us from now on, Cora. It's too dangerous to travel so close to the beach."

"They cut off his head," I whisper. "They cut off his head."

"Then there's nothing we can do." Ben tries to reason with me, but I'm still so dizzy from Eddard's face flashing through my mind that it's difficult to even pay attention to what Ben is saying.

"I need to—"

"What you need to do," Ben interrupts, "is calm down. The tea's done. Go sit."

* * *

There's no use sleeping. My mental breakdown ate up the night.

Ben finishes making tea and serves my cup first. I raise the tea to my lips, but my hands tremble so fiercely that I can't even take a sip. Hot tea splashes all down my arms and into my lap. Every drop on my skin turns it a sharp, blistering red, but I cannot feel the pain. I abandon my cup and hide my face in my hands.

"What's going on?" Frogger hops onto the table. "You look troubled, my human. Shall I sing the song you taught me? It always cheers you up! You there," Frogger says to Ben. "Bring me my hat!"

"He can't understand you," I say.

"I shall sing without the hat!" And then Frogger breaks out into song, hopping to and fro around the kitchen table. "Hello, my baby! Hello, my honey! Hello, my ragtime gaaaal! Send me a kiss by wiiiiirrre. Baby, my hearts on fiiiiiirrre!"

The last thing I feel like doing is laughing, but I literally can't help myself.

"If you refuse me, honey, you'll lose me. Then you'll be left alone, oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own!"

My laughter wavers between uncontrolled hysterics and reasonably controllable mirth. After a horrific coughing fit, I wipe away tears and let Frogger jump into the palm of my hand. "How are you still single?"

"I'd like to know!" he complains.

Ben answers the telephone on the second ring. "Yes? Hello? Who . . . slow down . . . _what? _No, no, keep him there. I'll send someone to retrieve him."

"Who was that?" I ask. "And why are they calling at three in the morning?"

"It was Mikhail." Ben rubs at his tired eyes, and I feel bad for keeping him awake. "Locke has discovered the Flame Station."

_Oh, Locke. _Frogger jumps back onto the table, so I put my face in my hands and smile.

"There's also been a disruption with our homing beacon."

I look up from my hands. "Homing beacon?"

"The beacon we use to direct the submarines back to the island. An electromagnetic pulse seems to have destroyed it. We can no longer return to the island, should we ever choose to leave."

I set my chin in the palm of my hand. "That means . . . that means the freighter won't be able to find us."

Ben takes a seat beside me. His forehead creases with worry lines. "The woman Jack has . . . the woman that fell from the helicopter . . . I overhead them speak of her. She has a phone that communicates with the freighter, but they can't get it to work."

"I know."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"About the phone?" I ask. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Ben repeats in disbelief.

"Even if they get to the radio tower," I explain, "they won't be able to acquire a broadcasting signal. Isn't that what the Looking Glass Station is for?"

"And what if the Looking Glass is compromised? What then?"

_We have Charlie and Juliet. In the show, Juliet told the survivors about the Looking Glass, and Charlie was the one who sacrificed himself to disable the communication jam keeping Rousseau's distress call playing on an endless loop. As long as I keep Charlie and Juliet in my camp, I don't have to worry about the stupid phone._

"How can it be compromised?" I ask. "Nobody knows where it is."

"What about the Flame?" Ben asks. "Do you want me to send someone to—"

"No," I say.

"No?"

"There's no use." I sigh. "John's already figured out a way to blow it up."

"How do you know?"

"Because that's what Locke does, Ben. He blows shit up."

* * *

"And what if I don't want to leave, sweet cheeks? What if I like it right where I am?"

"Do me a favor, Sawyer, and never call me sweet cheeks ever again." I tighten the ropes fastening five tents to Zeus's body. I pat his neck and ask, "How's that, big guy? Too tight?"

Zeus takes four steps to test it out and snorts in approval. "It is just right."

"Alright then, let's move out."

"Will the rhino let me hitch a ride?" Sawyer asks.

"Sawyer, I'm not even going to ask. If I can walk, you can walk. And no," I add, "he's not going to carry your backpack, either. Speaking of which, where is your backpack?"

Juliet marches over with a pack and shoves it in Sawyer's arms. "I'm not carrying your belongings, James." Pumba and Drumbstick follow her as she marches away.

"I was just kidding about hitching a ride," Sawyer admits sheepishly. "You know, you shouldn't be carrying any extra weight yourself, Cora. I can carry your bags for you, if you want."

_There he goes again, using my real name. _I start heading over to check on the other animals being loaded up with essentials. "What are you talking about?"

"You know," he says under his breath, "with the baby and all."

At first I think he's talking about Aaron, which makes no sense because Aaron isn't my kid. Then I remember the lie I told the survivors on the beach, but that can't be what Sawyer is referring to because the only people who know about that lie are the people from the beach and Ben. And I know for a fact Ben isn't stupid enough to go around telling people something like that without my permission. I whirl around to face Sawyer. "Who told you?"

"Hold your horses, mamacita. I didn't know it was a secret."

"I want to know who told you."

"Heard it from Juliet."

"_What?_"

"I assumed you told her."

I adjust the strap of Ben's satchel. It turns out Hurley Bird isn't just afraid of humans—he despises them. After waking from the operation last night, he immediately bit Ethan on the hand and tried to fly away. I'm the only person he doesn't attempt to fillet with his razor sharp talons, so I'm going to have to keep him tucked away in a satchel until his stitches dissolve and he can move around on his own. He's so enormous that he barely fits.

"You okay, buddy?" I rest a hand by the opening of the satchel, and Hurley Bird taps his beak against my fingers.

Brandon paws at my pant leg. "Are we leaving yet?"

"Soon, Brandon." It was near impossible to tell the wolves that their Alpha is dead. I don't know all that much about wolves, but I do know the pack needs an Alpha to function. I was worried that there would be a fight for dominance, but I guess I've become the Alpha by default now that Eddard and Catlyn are dead. The wolves won't stop following behind me.

Brandon's reaction was the worst. He didn't even properly mourn his father before reminding me that he is responsible for my protection now.

Claire, Charlie, and little baby Aaron—who Claire finally named—are packing their small sacks of provisions on a Zebra named Marty. Claire waves me over and gives me a one-armed hug while balancing Aaron in her other arm. "Congratulations!"

"On what?" I ask. Charlie gives me the thumbs up and waggles his eyebrows. "Oh, you've got to be freaking kidding me. Does _everybody_ know?"

"Can we name this one Turnip Head?" Charlie begs. He gives my stomach a light poke. "Please? It's a catchy name."

"I don't believe this."

"Charlie," Claire chastises, "don't touch her. I speak from personal experience when I say pregnant women don't appreciate being poked." Claire shifts a tightly bundled Aaron in her arms. "Cora, where exactly are we going?"

I smile at the slumbering newborn. His pouty lips mush together while he dreams. I wonder what babies dream about. They must be peaceful dreams. Nothing like mine. "Somewhere safe," I answer. "Much safer than this place. You guys all packed up?"

"Yes, that was the last sack." Claire strokes Marty's mane, and he nudges her hand, sniffing for food.

I hand Claire an apple. "He's hungry. You can feed him this. Charlie? I could really use your help packing up the last of the tents."

I can tell Charlie knows something is off. "Yeah," he says with too much enthusiasm. "Sure. No problem." Once we're out of Claire's earshot, Charlie asks, "These people that are coming . . . how do you know they aren't here to rescue us?"

I reach Zeus and look around for prying ears. "Charlie, I need to tell you something important, but you have to promise you won't tell Claire."

"What is it?"

"You have to promise me first."

He frowns. "I'm already at odds with her enough as it is. Let me hear it first."

I have a quick look around to make sure no one is listening. "You and Claire are not going to the Temple."

"Then where _are_ we going?"

"You're going to stay with me." I take another look around. "Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but just bear with me."

"Crazier than giant monsters made of smoke? Please tell me it won't be crazier than giant monsters made of smoke."

"I've seen the future."

Charlie laughs. "That's it? And here I was worried that you were going to tell me you have six extra arms, or something. I would have preferred that, actually. It's getting rather dull around here."

"This is serious, Charlie."

"Says the girl who can talk to animals."

"So, you believe me?"

He nods. "What's your plan?"

* * *

"Hey, Walt!" I clutch to the small stack of comic books I took from Karl and casually make my way over to where Walt is kneeling beside Vincent. He's trying to strap Vincent's collar on, but Vincent won't stop licking his face.

Walt looks up at me with no significant amount of interest. "Hey." His face brightens when I show him the comics. "They're in English!" he exclaims.

I laugh. "Of course."

"Thanks! Come on, Vincent. Stop it! Down!"

"Sit," I command, and Vincent obeys without question. Dogs are weird. "Enjoy the comics, Walt."

Michael appears at Walt's side as I leave. "What's going on?"

"Look!" And Walt launches into an excited speech about not having to read comics in Spanish anymore.

I'm supposed to keep Walt safe. That's what I said on the orientation film—find Walt and keep him safe. Can't hurt to earn his friendship while I'm at it.

"Ladies!" Frogger bellows from inside my shirt pocket. "Are there any ladies out there?"

I poke a finger in my pocket, and he climbs out. "Frogger," I tell him, "we haven't even left the Barracks yet."

"I'm sorry, my friend, but my romantic needs are strong. I must find a companion, or I will die of loneliness!"

"Oooo, can I hold that frog?" Little Zach and Emma shyly keep their distance. Cindy stands behind them with a protective hand on either child. Emma eyes Frogger with a childish gleam.

"You like frogs?" I ask Emma.

"I love frogs," she answers. "Can I hold him? I'll be really careful."

_Kids are so adorable when interacting with animals. Kids are also not the gentlest of creatures when it comes to handling things as delicate as Frogger. Squeeze him just a little bit too tight and POP. No more Frogger. _"Okay," I say, reluctantly. "You have to _promise_ to be very careful."

"I promise," she says earnestly.

"No squeezing."

"Okay. I promise."

"Frogger? This is Emma. She's going to carry you around for a little while, okay?"

Frogger takes a leap of faith and miraculously sticks to Emma's face. The girl gives a squeal of delight and tenses up. "He's cold," she exclaims while her little brother giggles beside her.

"Such soft skin!" Frogger proclaims with glee, climbing up the side of her cheek. "It is a treat for my froggy feet. Are you a lady, by any chance?"

It takes all my willpower not to roll my eyes. "He likes you, Emma."

Emma gently plucks Frogger off her face and holds him in her little cupped hands. "Look at him, Zach," she coos. "He's so cute!"

"Cora, what is this sweet angel saying? I cannot understand her!"

"She thinks you're cute," I tell him and instantly wish I had lied.

"Words of love? I accept!" He springs back onto Emma's cheek. "You shall be my human. Keeper of the perfect skin, I shall stay by your side till my dying day! I hereby forsake my search for a lady frog! Oh, if only I were human like you, benevolent creature."

"Whatever you do, Emma, don't kiss him," I tell her, only semi-jokingly. "He might turn into a human, and then God help us all."

* * *

I'm impressed with the skill of the Others. Tents stand completed in a matter of minutes. Turns out moving a hundred or so people all at once is more difficult than I could have possibly imagined. For one thing, we weren't able to make it to the Temple in one day. Not even close. Richard tells me it may take upwards of two days at the rate we're going.

Ben lights a lantern and hangs it in my tent. By the pale light of the lamp, Ben teaches me more about fighting. We review stances and technique for hours before I finally begin to feel tired.

"I don't understand why you're upset," Ben says under his breath, barely blocking one of my hammer-fists. "You were the one who started it. It was a good lie. I figured we might as well capitalize off it."

I block him and grab under his arm.

"Other arm," he corrects. "When someone is on this side of you, it has to be the other arm or the leverage won't work. Remember? We talked about this—"

Before he's stopped correcting me, I shift to the correct arm, knock his stable leg unbalanced with my ankle, and flip him over onto his back. "How exactly will we capitalize off it?" I ask, looking down at him.

"People might at least think twice before killing you." Ben sits up and rubs the back of his head, smiling. "Cheater."

"You two make the oddest pair."

I turn to the door of the tent and find Todd seated at my desk. "Todd? You're back?"

"So it would seem." Todd flicks his bushy foxtail and curls it around his feet. "There is quite a bit of fuss happening outside. But I'll let Jane explain things. She's liable to skin me and wear me as a hat if I spoil her gloating privileges."

"You both better be clothed because I'm coming in." Jane flings open the flap to my tent and storms inside. "Cora, I've brought you a present."

I receive the items with a massive smile on my face. "My bow! My arrows!"

"That's not all. Come see."

Jane and the rest of the scouting group I assembled have captured Lepidus, Miles, Faraday, and Charlotte. The four of them have been bound and gagged, and they kneel before the campfire outside my tent.

"A dead man washed up on the beach," Todd pipes in, "and their precious Naomi has no explanation for it. Seems your survivor friends have flown into a frenzy."

Jane ends up repeating Todd's story without realizing it.

Jane's debriefing has stirred the masses. They shuffle closer, hungry for information about the mysterious captives. I lock eyes with each of the new prisoners, wondering what to do next. Miles, the sarcastic psychic, stares me down with a stubborn relentlessness. Lepidus, everyone's favorite alcoholic pilot, doesn't seem to know what the hell is going on. Daniel Faraday, one of my favorite characters in the show, seems to be lost in his own thoughts. Charlotte, Faraday's redheaded girlfriend—whose significance to the show I never fully understood—stares at me with wide, terrified blue eyes.

"Cora, what do you want us to do with them?" Jane asks.

Charlotte jumps at my name and stares at me harder, her eyes darting back and forth across my face before rolling into the back of her head as she drops unconscious into the grass.

"Get them out of here," I whisper to Jane. "Can you put them in your tent until I can question them?"

"Of course," she answers. "I'll just—_holy shit_." Jane whips her rifle off her shoulder strap and cocks it.

I follow the point of her gun, and my entire body tenses. Jack stands about fifty feet away from our camp, alone. I notch an arrow on my bow when he starts walking closer. "Take one more step, you son of a bitch, and I'll shoot your throat."

Jack raises his hands behind his head. "I'm alone and unarmed," he yells.

I nod to Jane, and she takes off with Todd and the rest of the scouts to confirm. A few minutes later, she returns with the all clear.

"What do you want?" I yell, still aiming my bow.

"What I've always wanted," he answers. "I want to give my people the opportunity to go home."

"Brandon?" I call, and the young pup appears at my feet. "This is the man who slaughtered your father." One of the wolves begins advancing, but I call him back. "Give me a reason, Jack. Give me one reason why I should let a single word come out of your mouth."

"I want to hear what he has to say." Michael pushes to the front of the group, pulling Walt along with him. "You can't keep us here if we don't want to be here."

"Shut your mouth," Jane snaps. "She's only trying to save your sorry ass—"

"No, Jane. He's right. Everyone?" I address the crowd of onlookers. "Could I please have your attention?" I wait for the crowd to quiet down. "I just want to make it absolutely clear that none of you are hostages. None of you are being kept here against your will. I am leading you to a safe haven, but you are free to leave at any time without fear of retribution from my people. Are there any of you who wish to leave with Jack?"

Michael practically trips over his own feet at the opportunity, but Walt struggles in his grip. "I don't want to go."

Michael pulls harder. "You're going, Walt, and that's final."

"If the boy doesn't want to go," I shift my bow's aim from Jack to Michael, "then he doesn't have to go."

"He's _my_ son—"

"Yes," I interrupt, "and he's also an intelligent human being capable of functioning on his own. Walt, why don't you want to go with your father?"

"I just don't," he says quietly. "I want to go to this Temple you were talking about."

"Well, you heard him. Leave or don't, Michael. The decision is up to you. Walt has made his choice. What's yours going to be?"

"I'll come back for you," Michael promises. "I'll figure this out and come back for you. Okay, buddy?"

"Whatever," says Walt, already focused on Vincent.

Marty the zebra trots forward. Onyx the cheetah, multiple flamingos, and a horse follows suit.

"Let it be known," I tell them, "that the rules protecting you from harm will be null and void once you leave camp. The animals out there in the jungle are wild and follow no rules but their own."

"I understand the risk," says Marty. The other animals reply the same.

I turn back towards the crowd. I'm already sweating bullets. "Is there anyone else who wishes to leave?" I lock eyes with Charlie, who is trying to convince Claire to stay. I explained to him all about my visions of Claire and Aaron leaving on a helicopter, but only if they stay with me. I need to keep them safe, and they're definitely safer with me than they ever could be with Jack.

Mr. Eko steps forward, quickly followed by Hugo, Libby, Lydia, Hannah, Indiana and her mother.

"Hugo?" I ask.

"Sorry, dude," he says with a shrug. "But this island really sucks."

"Lydia?"

She gives a small shrug. "I'd really like to go home."

They don't know how crazy Jack is. _I'm _not even entirely sure how crazy Jack is.

I watch in horror as more and more people break away from my group and join Jack. The alternative would be to turn into a dictator and force everyone to stay at my camp, but then nobody would.

"I want the people from the helicopter, too," Jack demands.

"No."

"I thought you just said none of these people were hostages?"

I'm impressed with myself for not attacking him. "Cut them loose."

"You can't be serious," Jane complains.

"Just do it." Jane frees the people from the helicopter, and they hurry to Jack's group. "Whatever happens, Jack, I just want you to know that this is all your fault. Anyone gets hurt, anyone dies because of this . . . you'll have to go to sleep knowing you're the one responsible for it all."

Jack gives a sarcastic salute. "Have a nice night, Cora."

* * *

Wind blows through my hair, cool and calming, as I sit upon the hilltop overlooking camp. I sit in the meditative way Jacob taught me. I haven't meditated in a long while, and it would be useful now more than ever.

Meditating makes me think of my mother. _What would she have me do in this situation?_ I know what she would do. She would pray.

I begin to recite the Lord's Prayer when I hear someone come up behind me. I finish before opening my eyes to see who it is.

"No matter how many times you see it, this view never stops being beautiful."

"Hello, Jane."

"Mind if I join you?"

I pat the grass beside me, and she plops down. "I didn't interrupt your prayers, did I?"

"Not at all."

"So, what's the plan?" she asks bluntly.

"Plan?"

"Don't patronize me," Jane scoffs. "I know what you're doing." The edges of her lips pull up in a reluctant smile. "I admire it. I do. But it's still foolish."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you honestly think you can fight these people all by yourself? Please. Not even you in your glory days could do that. I want in."

"We're not fighting anyone. The people from the freighter are still on the freighter."

"But you just handed over the pilot to the helicopter."

"And? They can't fly back because of a communication jam in the Looking Glass Station. And since nobody in Jack's group knows about the Looking Glass, we're fine." I look over to find Jane glaring intently at me.

"I don't care what you or anybody else says. Nobody can shut me away in the Temple. This is the most interesting thing to happen on this island in my lifetime, and I'm not going to miss it. You worry about yourself, and I'll look out for me."

An awkward silence falls over us both. "So, uh, Jane? Are you dating anyone?" _Didn't Todd say she was in a relationship? Something about dating a guy named David, but she flirts with practically everyone else?_ "David, right?"

Jane inspects her fingernails. "David was never anything serious. He's good for a laugh, but not much else." She grimaces. "He cries too easily."

"Oh."

"Since we're on the topic of personal questions, mind if I ask one?"

"Sure."

"How'd you get over it? The overeating thing."

"Eating disorders aren't something you get over, Jane." I pick a blade of grass and shred it, my fingers slowly turning green. "I've just gotten better at fighting it."

"Well," she pauses, seeming uncomfortable with praise. "You've been doing a good job fighting it."

"You think so? Thanks."

"How are you feeling, by the way?" Jane asks, uncharacteristically awkward. "Is the baby okay? I know it's kind of early to tell, but . . . you know. I've heard women can tell those kinds of things pretty much since conception."

I place a hand over my stomach for good measure. "The baby is fine. You have any children of your own?"

Jane looks away, shaking her head.

"Ever thought about having any?"

"I can't," she answers.

"Can't what?"

"Conceive."

_Good job, Cora. Good job. _"Oh. I . . . sorry. I thought . . . not even on the island? I thought this place was supposed to be magical?"

"Not even on the island," she breathes. "Not even with Juliet's help." Jane laughs humorlessly. "What does _that _say about me? She can impregnate a male mouse and a woman with Swiss cheese for a reproductive system, but she can't figure out what's wrong with me. I'm defective," Jane says, drawing out the last word.

I don't know how to move past this plunge into the no man zone of conversation killers. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What do you do around here, anyway?"

Jane laughs. "My official title is _island nutritionist_. I'm in charge of making sure everyone eats the right amount of protein. It can get tricky when you're vegetarian." She gives a small shrug. "It's a thankless job."

"Ben?" a woman's voice comes on the walkie. "Ben, are you there?"

I fish the walkie out of my pack and press down on the call button. "Hello?"

"Who is this?" an angry voice asks. "Where is Ben? I need to speak with him."

For the first time since it was thrust upon me, I feel empowered by my new leadership role, and frankly, I'm insulted that whoever this is, they don't know Ben is no longer their leader. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Just put Ben on!" the woman yells.

"Ben is no longer in charge. My name is Cora, and I am your new leader. So whatever it is you want to say, hurry up and say it."

The radio falls silent for a moment, and then, "What did you say your name was?"

"Cora. Yes, _the _Cora."

Another female voice in the background says, "You've gotta be shitting me."

"What is it that you want?" I say forcefully.

"Well, _Cora,_" the woman spits. "My name's Bonnie, and I work down at the Looking Glass. You know where that is?"

"I do. What do you need?"

"We've got a man down here. Swam into the station. Says his name is Boone."

"_Boone?_" I practically scream. Jane leaps to her feet, startled into action. "What the hell is he doing down there? How . . . how did he find out about the station?"

Static crackles through the connection, and then Bonnie's voice rings loud and clear. "He says Juliet told them."

"How did—" _Jack. She must have told Jack while he was a prisoner at the Barracks. _Jack knew about the Looking Glass Station this entire time. He's been planning this the entire time, and I had no idea.

_But what I can't understand is why they would send Boone of all people. No offence to Boone, but what good could he do? He's only good for . . . for a distraction._

Oh shit.

"Bonnie?" I yell into the walkie. "Bonnie, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm listening."

"Do you have a gun? Get a gun, right now! Boone didn't go down there by himself." I wait for her to respond. "Bonnie? Hello?" I look at the dial on the walkie, and one of the lit-up numbers has disappeared. Bonnie's walkie has been destroyed.


	25. Homecoming

"I don't care, Richard! I want them taken _now_!"

"I'm telling you it can't be done," he replies calmly. "We cannot move this many people in such a short amount of time."

His composed demeanor isn't calming me down. I don't understand how he can be so levelheaded at a time like this. "I said I want you to take the children and get them to the Temple _right this second_," I order. "Leave the rest of these people to me. I'll get them there. Now, go. I don't care if you have to sprint all night. You get the children there _tonight_."

Richard exchanges a quick look with Jane, gives a sharp nod, and leaves my tent.

"What would you have me do?" asks Jane.

I look up from my hands, scowling. "Bring me Juliet."

* * *

I sit cross-legged on the floor of my tent while I try to calm myself. People I care about have joined Jack's group, and therefore put themselves in danger, and there's nothing I can do about it. Juliet has completely disappeared and betrayed us all, presumably sneaking off to Jack's group in the dead of night. There is a militant group on their way to this island whose mission is to find and destroy me. I want my mother, and I can't have her. I'll never see her again.

The children have all left with Richard. If all else fails, at least they will be safe. The rest of my group has already strapped their belongings back onto the remaining animals. We are abandoning the tents to make the travel lighter, but we still have a long way to go tonight.

I'm about to start packing my own bag when an angry voice yells, "Where is Ben? _Where is he_?"

"What is it now?" I complain.

Mikhail hastily approaches camp wielding a rifle aimed at someone with their hands held up over their head.

I squint into the darkness until his face lights up in the flames of a nearby campfire. "Locke?"

He slowly takes one of the hands he's holding over his head in surrender and taps at his throat.

"You can't speak?" I ask him.

Locke nods.

I remember that when the Hatch exploded in the show, Locke lost his voice for some reason. I hope he doesn't ask me to make him a sweat lodge so he can trip out on jungle drugs.

Mikhail whacks Locke in the back of the head, and he falls forward without so much as a yelp.

"Leave him alone, Mikhail," I snap.

The angry Russian fixes his one good eye on me and narrows it in contempt. "And just who might you be?"

My eyebrows shoot up in pure shock. "You don't know who I am?"

"And yet you know me by name without a formal introduction," he retorts. "Benjamin, who is this girl?"

"Cora, Mikhail." Ben gestures from one of us to the other. "Mikhail, Cora."

Mikhail tilts his head to the side, studying me. "You wouldn't happen to be—"

"Yes," I interrupt. "I'm _that _Cora."

"You seem a little young to be _that _Cora."

"What is it you want, Mikhail?" Ben asks with a small sigh of annoyance.

"This man, John Locke, destroyed my station, not to mention my home." Mikhail ignores me and turns to address Ben. "I see now that you were too busy conducting an evacuation to send me assistance."

"We're going to the Temple," Ben explains. "Come with us."

"Actually," I tell Mikhail, "there's something I need you to do first."

"What sort of trick are you?" he questions, lowering the rifle and stepping around Locke's body. "I don't take orders from you."

Theon, who has been sitting quietly by my side, stands and peals back his lips to reveal his razor sharp teeth.

"Actually," I say, "you do take orders from me. And I think you should—_Brandon!_" The little wolf pup has barreled out from between my legs and attacks Mikhail with a series of yips. "Brandon, get back over here right now! What are you doing?"

"Cora?" comes the faint sound of a woman's voice. "Hello? I'd like to speak with you."

"What is it this time?" I seethe through clenched teeth. "Ben?" Drastically lowering my voice, I spin away from Mikhail. "I'm obviously not getting anywhere with Mikhail, but he still seems to value your input. Can you convince him to do something for me?"

"Of course," he replies.

"The Looking Glass station . . . flood it," I say. "I don't care how he does it, but I need it done as quickly as possible."

Ben's eyes flit towards something behind me. "And what about your survivor friends? The one's still inside?"

_There's only so much I can do before someone has to pay the consequences. I've tried to warn them. I did my best, didn't I? It's not my fault they didn't listen. It's not my fault they swam down to that station. I may have a chance to stop the bloodshed before it even begins, and I'm going to take it. It's not my fault if they drown in the process._

_Right?_

I shake my head. "They had their chance to cooperate, and they made their answer very clear. I have no choice."

"Mikhail?" Ben calls. "I have a job for you."

When I make it through the hordes of people, I discover the voice calling my name belongs to Kate. Jane already has her kneeled down with her hands behind her head.

"I've already searched her for weapons," Jane tells me. "She's clear."

"What do _you _want?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Kate glances back at Jane and then looks at me. "I'd like to speak with you."

"I've already spoken with Jack."

"I'm not with Jack," she says.

_I don't have time for this. _"And why, exactly, should I waste my time on you?"

Kate's lips part, an explanation on the tip of her tongue, but she closes it instead with a look of frustration.

"Alright, look," I tell her. "We're in a hurry right now, so I'll listen to what you have to say, but you're going to have to walk and talk at the same time."

Once he group hastily gathers their important belongings, we head out.

"I don't believe what the people from the helicopter have to say," says Kate blankly.

I adjust Hurley Bird in the satchel. "Why?"

"The redhead, Charlotte? She told me they're here to rescue us. But Naomi told Jack that our plane was found at the bottom of the ocean _with all the passengers inside_." Kate gets too close to one of the wolves trotting beside me, and they voice their disproval. She quickly steps away. "Why would Charlotte tell us they're on a rescue mission if the world believes we're dead?"

"I've been trying to tell you that they're all liars."

"I know," she says, slumping her shoulders forward. "I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to believe you."

"I'm guessing Jack has not figured out this simple lapse in logic?"

Kate looks away, pained.

_What changed Jack from the man who doted on me when my forehead was split open? Who doted on everyone's injuries after the crash? Sure he gets a little mentally unstable in season 3, but never this bad. Never this far gone. He's a smart man. Why is he acting so stupid?_

I turn to Kate and study her expression. She doesn't seem to be lying, but then again, wasn't she a con artist in her formal life? "Are you asking permission to stay with us?"

"I would appreciate that," she says sheepishly.

"Then welcome aboard," I say with a grin. "Hope you like the smell of wolf."

* * *

It is midday when I first spot the camouflaged stonewall surrounding the Temple. The aged barrier is cloaked in layers of vine and overgrown trees. Tiny white blossoms sprout from the top of one of the plants hiding the sanctuary, and I have the strangest urge to pluck them and stick them in my hair. I reach out for one, but it sways just beyond my grasp.

"You always did have a weakness for the Kukui." A small Asian man with long black hair and a trimmed goatee stands near the wall. He smiles when I look up at him. "Come, come. You must get your people inside."

"My name is Cora," I explain. "I'm the new—"

"I know very well who you are. Come inside, while the wall is still of use to us."

The Temple is much like the Tardis; the outside is deceiving of its actual size. It is much, much bigger on the inside.

For as far as my eyes can see, the Temple grounds are crowded with high arched buildings—some without solid walls. Open air streams through what looks like giant gazebos made of rock. Inside the shelters, great walls of stone stand chiseled into elegant depictions of stories long past by. Everything curves and flows in a harmonious rhythm, like a stream of water down a hillside. Flowers and vines latch onto anything and everything they can grasp. All of the doorways are covered in sprawling Elvish script.

I wander off further into the grounds without being invited. A massive waterfall crashes down from the side of a mountain and pools into a glimmering pond. An elephant stands knee deep in the pool, spouting water out its trunk at a women with a gleeful, "I got you!" The woman laughs and splashes the elephant back, and the two begin a game of water war.

Swans bob around in the pond, swimming just out of reach of the water war. I listen to them honk in annoyance.

I turn to Ben and say, "Please tell me I had everything to do with this." But he looks just as curious as I do. "Have you ever been here before?" I ask.

"No," he says. "I was never invited."

_Never invited?_

"You all must be in need of rest," says Dogen from behind us. "I shall lead you to your old room, Cora. Follow me, please."

I follow him through one of the stone buildings, but I'm too tired to admire the craftsmanship. It took almost two full days to get here, and I haven't slept in all that time. A door opens into what I'm guessing is my room, and I don't even bother to change out of my smelly traveling clothes before falling into bed.

I'm asleep as soon as my head hits the rough canvas pillow.

* * *

This time the nightmare starts pleasantly deceiving. I'm walking alone through a field of cotton—nothing but fluffy white clumps as far as the eye can see. The day is gloriously sunny and warm and inviting. Every once in a while I'm reminded of how dangerous the razor sharp encasing of the cotton bud is, and it slices open my ankles and calves. Slowly the scratches begin to bleed, dripping bright red blood down my legs and staining the surrounding cotton buds.

I hear a howl, but I'm not immediately afraid. Behind me a wolf stands at the other side of the field, watching me. Then he breaks out into a sprint.

I squint in the heavy sunlight to try and identify who it is. When the wolf gets halfway to where I'm standing and doesn't stop, I begin to run.

I'm knocked to the floor as the wolf rips into my calves. He's speaking to me, but I've never heard his voice before. _How have I never met this wolf before?_

And then the snarling wolf licks my face.

* * *

I awake with a start. Brandon is propped up on my chest, lapping at my nose. "Are you alright, lady Cora?"

It takes me a second to gather my bearings. Slowly the memory of this place comes back, and I calm down. "Yes, Brandon. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yes," he answers bluntly. But he doesn't sound annoyed—only worried. "What's wrong?"

I rub at my eyes and sit up. "Bad dream." The room is dark, with only a flickering of light provided by a small torch mounted to the wall on the far side. I can barely make out the sleeping figures of the wolves scattered across my floor. Brandon is the only one who climbed on my bed.

"What about?" he asks.

I don't know how to answer. What am I supposed to say? _I was dreaming about wolves attacking me, Brandon. You know, your own species? Yeah, apparently my subconscious is terrified of them. Sorry about that. _Instead, I answer, "Things I'm afraid of. Do you dream, Brandon?"

His lifts his little wet nose up and stares me down, flopping his head from side to side. "Of course I do. I have lots of dreams about things I'm afraid of, too."

I smile and relax back into the pillows, rubbing my thumb in lazy circles behind his ear. "What do you dream about?"

"I have lots of dreams about lizards."

"Lizards?"

"_Giant_ lizards! And they all try to attack you, so I gnaw on their legs, but that doesn't work because they have super skin, so my teeth can't break through, and then—"

"Hold on." A small chuckle escapes me. "Why are the lizards attacking me?"

Brandon cocks his head from side to side again, thinking. "Because that's what I'm afraid of."

"You're afraid that lizards will attack me?"

"And I won't be able to protect you," he answers sleepily. "I don't want them to hurt you."

My throat closes off with a horrible tearing sensation, like I've swallowed broken glass. I always wanted a dog when I was a child, and now I technically have an entire pack of them. They're such unforgivingly loyal pets. _Pets. "_Pets" does not do them justice. Brandon is family.

I scoop him up and pull him closer to my pillow. Brandon's wet puppy nose tickles my face as he tosses and turns to try and get comfortable. Eventually he settles in-between me and a mound of pillows, resting his head comfortably in the crook of my neck.

"I love you, Lady Cora." He says it with the sincerity of a child. A simple truth. A declaration everyone accepts without question.

Such declarations are beyond me.

I lay there for the longest time, feeling stupid, with my hand hovering over his fluffy ears. I want to say it back because I love him as well. Much the same way that I love Alex and baby Aaron and my own brother and sisters back home. I care about them, their safety, their happiness. But I cannot say it back. The words get lodged in my throat. _I love you _was not something my family dished out like a plate of pasta. It was almost taboo in nature. I am not accustomed to the sound of it—especially not directed at me.

_This is stupid. Its just words. What's the big deal?_

But as soon as I convince myself to say it, Brandon has already fallen asleep, and it is too late.


	26. Cora's School for Gifted Youngsters

In the morning, I'm led to a room directly behind my bedroom. Inside lies a large stone hole big enough around that if I were to stand in the middle and hold out my arms, I could spin around in a circle and never touch the sides.

The people who boiled the water for my bath hauled it in here one bucketful at a time, all the while refusing to make eye contact with me. They don't look up once, even when I try to thank them for their work. One by one they shuffle back out the door and leave me alone in this strange stone bathhouse.

Steam from the boiling hot bathwater clouds the air and makes it difficult to breathe. I dip a toe in the bath and yank it out almost instantly. It's going to take a while until the water cools off enough to not boil me alive.

There is no end to the intricacies of this place. I walk circles around the bathroom and admire the murals etched into the stone walls. The largest one depicts a woman seated atop a throne swathed in peacocks, a wolf lounging at her feet, and a polar bear seated to her right. I run my fingers over the chiseling marks and wonder if this is supposed to be me.

When the water has cooled, I start unbuttoning my shirt and suddenly six other hands are fumbling to disrobe me.

I spin away from three random woman and pull my clothes tightly around my chest. "What the—?"

"I don't know what you're doing here," the oldest of the three women snarls at the other two. "I've already been cleared by Dogen. Neither of you even asked permission. Get out of here."

"Oh, please, Gail! Please?" begs one of the girls. "We just want to help."

"What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?" I yell.

The elderly woman curtsies. "I apologize, Lady Cora. I'll remove them immediately."

"All of you," I point an angry finger at the exit, "get out!"

"Look what you've done. You're upsetting her ladyship," the old woman snaps. The other two turn bright red and shuffle meekly out the door. "I apologize, again. They're a pair of the silliest girls I've ever known."

The part of me that my mother raised—the part that struggles to tell an elder what to do—takes over, and I end up standing awkwardly near the tub while the woman chatters nonstop. She pulls different colored vials from out of her shall and pours precise measurements of each into the scalding water.

"Do I know you?" I ask wearily. I'm sick of having to ask that question.

The old woman looks stunned for a moment. "Oh, you wouldn't remember me." She laughs. "Unlike you, I grew old."

"What's your name?"

"Gail."

"It's nice to meet you." I hold out a hand for her to shake.

She doesn't immediately take it. "So it's true?" she asks sadly. "You have no memory of your past?"

I retract my hand. "I'm afraid not."

"Well, that's . . ." She sighs heavily and turns to retrieve something off a high shelf. "That is most unfortunate. You can undress over there. I'll prepare your bath oils."

I look at the bathtub and make no move to undress.

"I used to be your lady in waiting," Gail explains. "I was responsible for bathing you, dressing you, fixing your hair and makeup for parties, and suiting you up for battle. There is literally nothing you have that I haven't seen a dozen times before." She smiles and turns back to the shelves of oils. "If there is, I'll be sure to throw a rock at it."

I itch at my arm for no reason other than to do something. "Sorry, it's just . . . I don't know you."

But Gail isn't even listening to me. She continues to pour an elaborate mix of scented oils into the bath, humming as she does it. She is every adorable grandmother stereotype imaginable all molded into one. I feel almost as stupid as I do awkward. After all, she's an old woman. Even if she _hadn't_ been my lady in waiting once upon a time, there still isn't anything I have that she doesn't.

I eventually pull off my shirt, pants, and undergarments and hop inside while Gail has her back turned. As soon as the water envelops me like a translucent blanket, I relax.

I detest being naked. It's one of the worst sensations. You are ultimately vulnerable to _everything_ including the elements, predators both man and beast, the list goes on.

The luscious scent of pollen serves to settle my nerves. Whatever Gail put in this bath is amazing. I can already feel my skin softening.

Gail scrubs my back with a sudsy rag while explaining who she is. "I had just finished my second doctorate at Stanford when I was approached by the head of the biology department. They told me all about the Dharma Initiative and how I was a highly sought after candidate." Gail squeezes out the rag and smiles. "You can only imagine how flattered I was. Of course I accepted their offer of employment. The Initiative was conducting new and exciting research, and I was eager to be a part of their next big scientific breakthrough."

"How did you end up at the Temple?" I ask.

"You brought me here," she answers. "After I was finally approved by Dr. Chang and brought to Hydra Island, I discovered the cruelty of their experimentation. I expressed my concern, but they threatened to imprison me if I didn't continue with the experiments. I didn't know what to do at that point." Gail pours a bucket of water over my head and begins scrubbing my hair with sweet smelling shampoo. "You gave me another option. You brought me here, and here I have stayed for the past 30 years."

"You like it here?"

"I love it here," she affirms. "I care for the animals and help educate the children. I'm head of the science department."

"Children? I haven't seen any children."

Gail chuckles softly and dumps another bucket of water over my head. "They are currently in class. I imagine they are going to be quite surprised to find their history lesson come to life. Well," she announces, "that about does it. Come on out so I can dry you."

The coolness of the cave floor, mixed with the lingering heat of the steam in the air, confuses my senses. Prickles rise up and down my arms while Gail pats me dry with a towel. The longer I'm naked in the presence of someone else, the less absurd it all seems. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Gail leads me back into my bedroom. Now that it is daytime, more torches and candles light up the room.

Brandon scampers off my bed and runs circles around my legs. "Play with me, Cora!" he cries.

I hold the bath towel tighter around my body even though that's stupid because he's a wolf and doesn't understand human nakedness the way I do. With a small growl, Brandon takes the edge of my towel and tugs at it playfully.

Gail opens an enormous wooden cabinet and begins brushing off a long silken gown made of white, with small details of gold. "I'll freshen this up for your birthday celebration."

"My . . . my what?" I try to yank the towel out of Brandon's mouth, but he mistakes this for a game of tug-of-war and only sinks his teeth in deeper.

"Hasn't anyone told you?" Gail shakes her head in exasperation. "Good gracious. Your birthday is tomorrow." She drapes the gown over one arm and smiles warmly at me. "It is to be a celebration of exceptional magnificence. Dogen has not yet told the children. Oh, they are in for the surprise of their life!"

_A birthday party. There's a small army coming here to kill me, and these people are honing their time and energy into throwing me a birthday party? _"I regret to inform you that I won't still be here in two days. I'm leaving sooner than that."

"Oh, you mustn't," Gail begs. "The children will be so very disappointed."

A final sharp tug and Brandon yanks the towel away from me. I claw at it, but it flutters down and covers his small form. Brandon hops away, bubbling with giggles.

"Brandon!" I yell, more irritated than anything. "Give that back, right now!"

"Catch me, Lady Cora!" He runs smack into a wall and slumps over, still completely covered with the towel.

I try to lift the towel off him, but he snaps at it and catches it in his sharp puppy teeth again. "Give it back," I order.

He growls and yanks at it.

"No, Brandon. Bad. Let it go."

I can tell that he's playing by the tone of his growl, but his lack of compliance is irritating. He's starting to act like a toddler reaching their terrible twos, and I can't deal with that right now. Now is not the time for him to be acting out, and I need to make that abundantly clear. "I. Said. NO!" I give his nose a sharp smack. Brandon immediately releases the towel and recoils from me, hunkering down low to the floor.

The rest of the wolves have lifted their heads up to watch. Even Gail observes curiously from the other side of the room. A heavy silence drags on and weighs me down. I look at Brandon, but he's lying completely flat against the floor, ears tucked against his skull, eyes averted.

I clear my throat. Suddenly the issue of covering myself with a towel is a meaningless trivial thing, and I feel absolutely ridiculous for worrying about it. _But he needs to behave. He needs to know that he can't ignore me right now. Times are too dangerous for him to abandon the discipline his parents instilled in him._

But another voice says, _He's just a kid._

I'm tired of feeling stupid and ashamed about this, so I try to explain things to him from my perspective. "I didn't want to have to do that, Brandon."

"Ok," he says quietly.

"You cannot ignore me when I tell you to do something."

"Ok."

_This isn't working._ "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Ok."

Now I'm pissed. _What else was I supposed to do? He wouldn't listen to me. All I did was give him a smack on the nose. It's not like I hurt him or anything. _No matter what I think, I still feel sick with guilt. He won't even look up at me.

"Come in, Benjamin," I hear Gail say. I've been so wrapped up in trying to get my towel that I neglected to wrap it back around me.

"Is Cora still in here?" I hear Ben ask, nudging the door close behind him. "I was sent to tell her about—"

Ben and I both freeze, locked in a staring contest.

Normally I would be mortified right now, but because of Brandon, I'm simply in a horrendously bad mood. I try my best to wrap the towel around myself and yell, "Don't look!"

"I'm not looking," he says automatically, even with his eyes still glued to me.

"_GET OUT!_"

Ben turns sharply and smacks into the closed door, stumbling back a step or two. Then he fumbles around for the handle, closing the door loudly behind him.

"Gail?" I say slowly, abandoning the towel completely. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm not sure," she says innocently. "You didn't allow the poor boy to finish his statement."

"Okay look," I explode, "you want to bathe me? Sure. You want to dress me? Whatever. I can deal with that. You said yourself you've done it for years. But if you're going to be my lady in waiting, you are not, I repeat, _not _allowed to let random people come into my room _while I'm stark-freaking-naked!_"

Gail lays the white gown on my bed and folds her hands together. Her grey brows furrow in confusion. "Not even your husband?"

"Not even the President of the United States if I don't consent! You are not permitted to open that door without my expressed permission. Understood?"

"If you insist, Lady Cora."

_Calm the hell down, Cora. You've already upset Brandon. Don't alienate anyone else. You need all the allies you can get._

I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Gail. I'm sure my behavior seems out of character right now."

A small smile tugs at her lips, wrinkling her thin skin. "I must admit, it was rather shocking to discover who you married. I haven't seen that boy since he was ten."

I allow her to begin dressing me in a light grey shirt. "You know Ben?"

"I used to see him around the Barracks when I still worked with the Initiative." She tugs a pair of thin green pants onto my legs and straightens them. "Adorable little thing."

"Gail," I begin, but then I stop to think about my wording. "I . . . did I ever bring Ben here, when he was a child?"

"No," she answers. "I don't believe Benjamin has ever been to the Temple before."

"Was I here often?"

"This was your home," she says, slipping a forest green tunic over my head. "You were here almost every day." Gail fastens a belt right above my hips. "There. You're ready."

"Ready for what?"

Gail throws open a different wooden cupboard—this one full of weapons—and pulls out two short-bladed knives. "Take these with you." She tucks them into the holsters in the belt. "Dogen is waiting."

* * *

I try my best to follow Gail's instructions, but all of these hallways look the same to me. As I wander aimlessly down another hallway, my stomach sinks at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Cora?" Ben exclaims, his voice echoing off the walls of the enclosure. He hurries to my side, spewing out explanations with a flustered embarrassment. "I just wanted to apologize about earlier. I was sent to, well, you see, I was just trying to relay a message and, well, I was unaware of the situation . . . I didn't see anything!" He closes his eyes, his lips pulling down in a frown. "Alright, no, that's a lie—"

"Ben," I cut him off, pointing a finger at my wedding ring. He blinks at it. "We're married, remember? Technically speaking," I explain, my own embarrassment flaring up, "you're allowed to see me naked."

I watch as his neck begins breaking out in a pink, irritated rash. It peaks out from the top of his light blue collared shirt and spreads up just below his chin. It's almost comical.

Ben doesn't have a tumor on his spine, so that means he was never shot, and therefore he was never taken to the Temple and . . . _what was it Richard had said in the show? His innocence would be gone?_

_What the hell?_

So, apparently he's still _innocent_ . . . whatever that means. I keep forgetting that he's essentially Dr. Linus without the doctorate in European history. I'm so used to expecting the cold, calculating Ben from the show that half the time I don't know what to do with this strange blushing anomaly.

I decide that I find it endearing.

"What was it you wanted to inform me of?" I ask.

"Pardon?"

"You went in my room to tell me something. What was it?"

"Oh," he says, folding his hands behind his back. "I'm supposed to tell you Dogen has requested your presence."

"Yeah, Gail told me."

"You seem to know where you're going," he comments. "Where would that be, exactly?"

"Should be around here somewhere." I notice how out of place Ben is acting and remember that this place and its people are as new to him as they are to me. I wonder why I never brought him here as a child. "Would you like to come with me?" I ask.

"You wouldn't mind?"

"I could use the company. It's always less scary to be lost with a friend than to be lost all by yourself."

We start walking down an endless hallway, and I take the time to actually investigate the artwork chiseled into the stone. Not all of it is about me, thankfully. I was starting to worry that I grow up to become some egotistical maniac. The majority of the artwork consists of detailed carvings of animals.

Ben clears his throat. "How has your day been?"

"Well, I somehow let an old woman convince me to let her bathe me. That was . . . different."

"I've never met Gail before. She seems pleasant."

"Yeah."

Ben lowers his voice. "When do you plan on leaving this place?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "Soon, I suppose."

"That would be best. Mikhail will inform us of Martin Keamy's whereabouts when he returns. That will determine where we should place ourselves for attack."

I suddenly fear I'm going to throw up. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

"There you are," says a smooth voice. Dogen waves us forward with an impatient hand. "Come, come. You've kept me waiting."

* * *

Dogen leads me to an outdoor archery range close to the waterfall. I watch as a group of children stand at attention with an eerie precision. Every single child is a different height, race, and age, but they all wear the exact same clothing that Gail dressed me in.

An instructor clothed in a closely fitted blue gown glides through the ranks, tapping at knees that are not straight enough for her liking. She weaves in and out of the children until she is satisfied with what she sees. With a sharp command in Elvish, she orders them to string their bows. Like a well-oiled machine, every single one of the children reaches down to the quiver attached to their belt, pulls out an arrow, and notches it on their bows. I hear the throng of tension as each of them holds the taught string against their cheeks to aim. The instructor orders them to fire, and a dozen or so arrows fly across the range, sinking in deep to the targets. The older children have all hit direct bull's-eyes, and even the youngest in the group hit the inner circle.

"Who are these children?" I ask Dogen as I follow him away from the range.

"They are orphans," he answers.

"All of them?"

"My assistant travels the world, seeking out children born into unfortunate circumstances. Orphaned, abandoned, mistreated. We spare them a life of suffering by bringing them here."

"How many children are there?"

"We currently have fifty one, but five will be leaving in the spring."

"Leaving?" I hurry to catch up with him. "To go where?"

"To universities off the island. We have an extensive team of educators here teaching everything from music to advanced quantum mechanics. Once a child has reached adulthood, we simply pull a few strings and admit them into institutions of higher learning in the country of their choice. That is, if they choose to leave."

"Has anyone chosen to stay?" asks Ben.

"No," Dogen replies sharply.

"Where are all these children?" I ask, looking around. There were only a dozen or so at the range. Nowhere near fifty.

We round a corner and end up back inside the hallway. "These walls," Dogen runs a hand over the carvings of a fox, "hold many things." He presses his full weight against the stone, and slowly the wall moves away to reveal a tunnel of stairs leading down into nothingness.

* * *

I lean in close to Ben and whisper, "Why do I feel like this was a bad idea?"

"It has a sort of horror movie quality, doesn't it?" I hear him chuckle. "How comforting."

"Why are _you_ worried?" I hiss. "I'm a blonde female. If something bad happens, I'll be the first to go."

"This is where we teach history." Dogen waves a hand towards a doorway covered only by a thin sheet of blue gossamer. Through the fabric I can see the vastness of the classroom, lit with large fire pits and a few torches on the walls. It extends down in a wide circle meant to accommodate thirty or so people. There is currently a full class in session.

I hated history class. It was always so boring. _Dates, dates, dates. Who cares about when Napoleon reigned? I don't. _But if these children have come from all over the globe, what sort of history would you teach them? "The history of what?"

"We would love to focus on the country in which they came, but as you can imagine that would take a very long time. For the purposes of multiculturalism, we teach world history until they reach sixteen. We then teach them about their own homeland."

A little girl near the rear of the class, closest to the door, looks back at us.

"It is best not to disturb class," says Dogen.

I follow him further down the tunnel. My foot gets caught in a crack on the floor, and I throw my arms out to try and regain my balance. A firm hand steadies me.

"You all right?" asks Ben.

"Yeah. Thank you." As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I trip again and grab onto Ben for support.

"It's fortunate for your mother that she isn't here," says Ben. "Her poor spine would be in shambles."

I loop my arm through his in case anymore faulty pavement decides to sneak up on me. "Did you just make a nursery rhyme joke?"

He smiles. "It was a mistake I shall not replicate."

"These are the math and science classrooms, and that one is where we teach literature and languages. Latin, French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, Korean, Swedish, German, and of course Sindarin to those who are interested. We've yet to find a teacher who speaks the languages originating in Africa."

"Mr. Eko," I blurt out.

Dogen spins around. "What was that?"

"I . . . I think I may have a teacher for you. He's not with our group right now, but I might be able to change that."

"Hello, Headmaster Dogen," comes the small voice of a child. A little girl appears out of the darkness and smiles up at us. She looks from me to Ben and gives a small curtsy. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Agnes."

"Hello, Agnes. I'm Benjamin." He looks to me with a gleam of amusement.

"Hey, Agnes. I'm . . . uh, I'm Cora."

The little girl holds her textbook closer to her chest. "Oh!" she exclaims. "Were you named after the great Lady Cora? How lucky!"

"Yeah," I say, "something like that."

At the mention of my name, more students have poked their heads out of their classrooms to see what the commotion is about.

"Can we get out of here?" I whisper to Ben. "I'm starting to get claustrophobic."

* * *

Luckily Dogen allowed me to flee the tunnels before officially announcing who I was. Students have been flocking to me ever since, although nobody has mustered the courage to actually come talk to me.

It isn't until Ben speaks that I realize I still have my arm looped through his. I don't bother to retract it.

"Did I tell you they're planning me a birthday party?"

"How quant," Ben says offhandedly. "Shall we leave by nightfall? Jane is contracting cabin fever at the moment. She won't stop asking for updates on our departure."

I stare off into the massive crowd of students spilling out of the buildings. One or two brave souls wave, so I wave back, much to their excitement. I hear my name growing louder amongst their conversations, and I swell with a sense of excitement. "No," I say.

Ben nods in agreement. "You're probably right. We'll need to leave before then."

"No," I repeat, and he gives me a questioning look. "You know what? I'm sick of having to think about death every waking second. I'm going to have a pleasant birthday for once in my life. What's one more day?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It's my birthday," I say playfully, "and I can do what I want."

"It'll be my birthday, too."

"It will?"

From out of the chaos, I hear Gail's soft voice. "Cora? I have someone who would like to meet you. She's your biggest fan."

A young Asian girl clings tightly to Gail's weathered hand as Gail leads her right in front of me. I kneel down and hold out a hand for her to shake, but the little girl ignores it. In fact, she's not even looking at me at all. She's looking through me.

The little girl opens her mouth and the tiniest, sweetest voice I've ever heard comes out. "May I see you, Lady Cora?"

I've heard stories of the blind touching people's faces as a way of constructing a mental image of what they look like. "Of course," I answer.

She begins with my chin first and works her way upward, her little fingers tracing the length of my nose and curve of my cheeks. When she's finished, she smiles. "You're pretty."

"Not nearly as pretty as you are," I counter. "What's your name?"

"Aiko."

"Well, Aiko. I don't suppose you'd like to join me on a walk, would you?"

Her whole body clenches in anticipation. "May I?"

I take hold of her little hand and glance back at Ben. "Just one day."

"One day," he agrees with a small smile. "One more day."


	27. It's My Birthday, I Can Cry If I Want To

DHARMA, 1974

_Miss Collins doesn't believe in birthdays. She believes in un-birthdays._

_364 days a year she celebrates our un-birthdays with little gifts and lots of confetti. One un-birthday she gave me a copy of Alice in Wonderland, which is where she originally got the idea for un-birthdays. She usually gives everyone in class a baked treat she made because Miss Collins is always baking things, but she never eats anything she makes. She told me once that baking keeps her busy and gives her something pretty to admire when she's done, but she never eats her creations._

_So she gives them all to us._

_I look up at the board where Miss Collins has written the date in Sindarin: Thursday, December 19, 1974. Today is my birthday, so I don't expect any treats. But when Miss Collins walks through the door, and the class hops up out of their seats and salutes by bringing a fist to our hearts like she taught us to, she doesn't salute back with any amount of enthusiasm. She isn't carrying a container of goodies, either. Slowly, one by one, the students sit back down, unexcused and disappointed._

_Nobody says anything for a long time._

_Billy, who sits in the front row, is the first one brave enough to say something. "What's wrong, Miss Collins?"_

_She looks up and blinks rapidly at us like she's just realized we're here. There are dark rings around her bloodshot eyes. "Students, take out your allotted books and read silently for the remainder of the class."_

_I look around to find that everyone else is just as confused as I am. Silent reading? We've never done silent reading before. We've always read aloud, or acted the plot out in skits, or Miss Collins draws scenes out on the board._

_We've never had to silent read._

_Miss Collins takes Prince Humperdinck, the class pet, out of his cage and holds the bunny to her chest._

_I've been working on a birthday card since I discovered Miss Collins and I share the same birthday. It took me a while to write it out because I wanted my Elvish translations to be correct. She always makes sure our un-birthdays are happy and memorable, but nobody does the same for her. They're all so excited about what she will bring them that they forget to bring her anything in return. She may not believe in birthdays, but that doesn't mean I can't try._

_When class is finally over, I pull the card out of my knapsack and head towards her desk, but she's already up and filing out the door with the students. Usually she stays after class to answer any lingering questions about the day's lesson, or at the very least she stays by the door and hugs each student goodbye._

_I follow her from a distance as she travels around the Barracks. I never find an appropriate time to approach her._

_"Cora," Juliet calls from her seat on one of the lunch benches outside the cafeteria. LaFleur is seated across from her, eating a sandwich. I quickly hop behind a tree._

_I asked Miss Collins once if LaFleur and Juliet were her parents, and she answered, "They might as well be." That's all she ever told me about them. I know they're a close family though because they're always really affectionate to each other in public._

_Miss Collins takes a seat next to her mom, lays her head on Juliet's shoulder, and begins to sob. I can't hear what her parents are saying, but I turn away when they start trying to comfort her._

_ I don't know why she is sad, and I don't know why I thought making her this stupid card was ever going to help anything. Embarrassed and upset, I rip the card in two and toss it in the nearest trash._

_ I decide right then that I will always hate birthdays._

* * *

I have braided exactly 22 hairdos and allowed six different girls to brush my own hair. I try to ignore the fact that one of the girls swiftly pocketed strands of my golden tresses that got caught in the brush when she thought I wasn't looking.

Aiko sits comfortably in my lap, fiddling with my fingers as the other girls around me ask questions.

"How old are you?"

"What's your favorite color?"

"How many people have you killed?"

"Is that your husband?"

"How do you get your hair so shiny?"

"Can you tell me what my pet lizard wants?"

I'm not saying I blame them. I know better than most what it's like to stutter your way through a conversation—especially with someone who makes you nervous.

Even some of the boys eventually approach me. I meet a boy named Peter and a boy named Alexei who are both transferring to college in the spring.

"I have already been accepted to the University of Wisconsin," Alexi boasts. "I would like to study linguistics. American dialects in that region fascinate me."

"I've always been fascinated with American customs," Peter adds. "Do you have any unusual American mannerisms, Lady Cora?"

I laugh. "That would depend entirely on what you mean by _unusual._"

Aiko shifts her seat in my lap and lets go of my hand. "Gail says you're an angel. Is that true, Lady Cora?"

"_What_?" It's such a bizarre thing to say that I can't immediately think of an answer. "Why would Gail say that?"

Aiko relaxes back against my chest. "She says you come down from heaven whenever we need your help. That's why you never grow old. That's why you went away for so long."

"If that were true, Aiko," Alexi comments with a smile, "then there would be an urgent reason for Cora to be here right now."

_Shit._

I try to laugh it off, but Alexi eyes me with a glimmer of understanding. There's a reason none of the children know about the upcoming war. _They can all fight. _Earlier today, Dogen explained the intense physical training each child undergoes once they are brought to the Temple—archery, knife throwing, and virtually any style of martial arts they desire to learn. Even the youngest child here is capable of kicking my ass—well, except for Aiko. They can hold their own, and that scares me to death.

It means they might want to join me, and I wouldn't have a good excuse to reject them.

* * *

I find Kate seated on a smooth rock just outside my building, trying her best to fend off a swan attack. The two birds dip their graceful long necks low to the ground and charge towards her with loud shouts of disproval.

"I don't like you," one honks. "Get away from me! Stop stealing our feathers!"

"What's wrong with them?" Kate asks when she sees me. "I've done nothing but sit here and mind my own business. They came out of nowhere!"

"They say you've stolen their feathers."

Kate swats at one of them, and it bites her hand. "OW! What would I want with feathers? I haven't touched either of them!"

"You should probably tell them that," I say, amused, until the swans spot me and attack.

"I don't like you either!" they honk. "Everyone is always stealing our feathers!"

"Hey, hey!" I yell, dancing away from their snapping beaks. "Get away!"

The two birds suddenly go flying, shouting what I'm guessing are swan swear words. Todd trots into view, growling. "Have either of you seen a cat recently?"

I brush a white feather off my pants and answer, "No. What's wrong?"

"Damn it all to hell!" he snaps angrily and flicks his bushy tail back and forth. "Blasted cat. I swear . . ."

"Todd?" I've never seen him lose his cool like this before. "What's wrong?"

"It's Nadia. She was supposed to follow us, and I haven't seen or smelt her since yesterday. I'm not even sure she's within the Temple boundaries."

_Nadia? Oh, Mikhail's cat. Was that the cat that clawed Todd's face a few weeks ago? The cat he said likes him, despite her obvious disdain? _I stare at Todd in wonder.

"What?" he snaps. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I just . . . didn't know you were capable of caring about someone so much. Someone besides yourself," I add. He doesn't laugh. "I'm sure she just followed Mikhail. She's always following Mikhail, right?"

Todd snorts a short burst of air out his nose and sits. "Yes," he agrees. "Of course. If she isn't here, she must be with him. I . . ." Todd stands back up. "Where is he?"

_Oops. _"I sent him to the beach to run a quick errand."

"_The beach_?"

"He should be returning at any moment!"

"Running around the beach . . . at a time like this? How on earth could you do something so . . . I want to go after them," he says firmly.

"Are you crazy? You can't leave the Temple at a time like this!"

"I'm going after them. Alert the scouts at the gate. I'm leaving immediately."

"Todd, I'm not—" The sentence dies on my lips at the sight of Todd's sharp front teeth. "Did you just . . . did you just _growl _at me?"

"It slipped out," he says. Slowly his ears flatten, and his posture relaxes. "I apologize, Cora. I'm . . . I'm not myself at the moment."

"This Nadia of yours . . . you really do care for her, don't you?"

Todd stares me down with keen black eyes. "Under different circumstances, I would retain my privacy and refrain from answering." He lowers his head ever so slightly. "But these are troubling times, and I fear any declarations I make will only be lost to the wind anyhow. So, to answer your question, yes."

"Why?" I blurt out. _Why a cat? Why a cat that doesn't even like you?_

"Because I am lonely."

His answer stings because I believe it to be true. "Are you the only fox on the island?"

"My mother was the last of the females. She bled to death while giving birth to my brothers and sisters," Todd explains. "Six in all. I was the only survivor. My father tried to raise me, but he fell ill and died when I was still a pup. It's a lonely life, being the last of your kind."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." I want to reach down and pet him, but I'm afraid he might bite me. "Did Nadia raise you?"

"I raised myself," he answers proudly. "Nadia and I used to get along when we were young . . . for the most part. She has always been stubborn and reclusive. She's . . ." Todd lifts his head up high to look at me. "I need to go after her. I need to bring her back."

"You have that right," I say. "I'll let the watchers at the gate know. Just . . . please be careful."

"You forget who you're talking to."

"This isn't a joke, Todd. I don't know where Keamy is. I don't even know if he's on the island yet."

"The delightful mercenaries I keep hearing so much about? I'll return as soon as I can," says Todd. "I'll scope out the beach and let you know where we stand."

He turns to leave, but I call him back once more. "Todd?" Kneeling down in the dirt, I spread my arms out, holding him tightly to my chest when he comes near. "Be safe."

I feel the roughness of his tongue scratch against my cheek, and then he is gone—nothing more than a shrinking ball of red.

"Is it any use asking for a translation?"

I spin around, startled. I had completely forgotten Kate was here. Her nose still looks like a ripe plum. "Where is everyone?" I ask. "I haven't seen Sawyer or Claire or Charlie lately."

"Last I heard they've been sleeping the day away." Kate hooks her thumbs through the belt straps of her jeans and rocks back and forth. "The trip took a lot out of them. Two days without sleep will do that to a person."

I smile. "And it didn't have any effect on you?"

Kate looks up at the darkening afternoon sky. "I like fresh air. Figured it would be nicer to rest out here in the sun for a while . . . until I was attacked by killer geese."

"Swans, actually."

"Right."

"So," I start, already feeling uncomfortable about the topic, "uh, how's your nose?"

"Broken." Kate's expression changes from mild annoyance to something resembling pity, I think. I don't know what to make of it. "How's the baby?" she asks.

_Baby? Oh, right. _"Fine."

"Are you sure?" In the blink of an eye, the entire mood of the conversation shifts, and I find myself face to face with a woman on the verge of tears. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Kate, what's wrong with you? I'm fine. Calm down."

Kate wipes at her red eyes with the backs of her hands, but the tears come too fast for her to dry. "In the jungle, when you were chasing after me . . . I tackled you hard in the stomach. I didn't mean to. I didn't know you were . . . I'm so sorry."

"Kate, look, please stop crying. I'm fine, the baby is fine . . . trust me. Everything's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Juliet said so," I lie. "I'm inclined to believe a fertility specialist."

"But she's not even here."

I close my eyes. _Breathe. _"I know. But she wouldn't have lied to me. Not about this."

Kate finally nods in agreement, wiping the last of her tears away.

I feel guilty for making her cry over a lie, so I decide to try and cheer her up. "You remember Sawyer?" I ask. "Sassy mouth, hair in need of a cut, got the whole beach-bum-from-the-back-hills thing going on?" _How weird is it that I have to explain who Sawyer is to a character that is supposed to be in a relationship with him at this point?_

Kate gives a small nod. "What about him?"

"Did I tell you he's been a real pain in the ass ever since he found out I'm part Italian?"

Kate looks amused. "How?"

"He won't stop adding _A's _to the end of every word, as if that suddenly makes it Italian." I roll my eyes. "_Heya! It'sa da Cora! Whya don'ta you makea da spaghetti?"_

Kate snorts a laugh but quickly tries to stifle it with a cough.

"I swear, he sounds like Super Mario on crack. Which, for the record, I find offensive."

A smile returns to her lips, and I feel better about the situation.

_Poor Kate. She was nobody's favorite in the show. I remember there were internet groups dedicated to bashing her character. After getting to know her better, I don't understand why she was so unpopular. Because she slept with half the cast of characters? Okay, granted that was a pretty annoying aspect of the series, but it doesn't change who she is as a person. She's sweet and caring and considerate . . . like Claire. At least she seems to have more sense than Jack at the moment. That wins her major brownie points._

_ Oh, God. Brownies._

_ I would literally kill for chocolate right now._

"Excuse me," Ben asks, walking up to greet Kate. "Might I steal Cora away for a little while?"

"Sure," Kate answers. She gives me a soft pat on the shoulder before wandering off.

"Walk with me?" Grammatically, it's a question. But I know that look in Ben's eye, and I realize I don't really have a choice.

I reach out for his warm hand as we stroll through the darkening courtyard. "Where did you sleep last night?" I ask.

"Somewhere far less comfortable than your room. I guarantee it."

I nudge an elbow in his ribs, smiling. "That seems to happen a lot." His lips stay flatline, and the humor slowly seeps out of me. The two of us continue on in silence, passing by instructors and students who acknowledge me with a respectful nod.

All of the tapestries and banners hanging throughout the Temple are white and light blue, with one of three animals on each—a fox, a polar bear, or a wolf. Each banner blows softly in the breeze, catching the silvery rays of the moonlight. The night air is cool and crisp, but not unpleasantly cold. It feels refreshing. "The calm before the storm," I muse to myself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Neither of us speaks again until we reach the waterfall at the farthest corner of the Temple grounds. Water cascades down into a pool that trickles here and there. I wonder if this is where my bathwater supply comes from.

Ben's voice comes out so faintly I can barely hear him over the crash of the waterfall. "We cannot stay at the Temple."

"I know."

"We should have left this afternoon."

He's probably right, but as of right now, I don't really care. "Ben, I think we should have this conversation somewhere else. I can barely hear you over all this water."

"That is precisely the point." I watch as his eyes quickly give the surrounding area a once over. "It would be injudicious to discuss such plans within earshot of everyone. You can never be too sure who's listening."

"Has any one heard back from Mikhail?"

"No, and my walkie isn't picking up his signal."

"I sent Todd out to look for him. He should be returning tonight or tomorrow."

"Oh?" Ben looks surprised. "Good. Very good. Have you finalized a plan of action yet?"

"I'm not a military stagiest, Ben."

"You should talk to Richard," he suggests. "He's had experience with . . . well, a lot, actually. Turns out people are trying to kill us off quite frequently."

"Okay." I watch as the water ripples and shimmers a thousand different hues of silver. This place—this entire place—is so peaceful, so beautiful, and I can barely stand it. It's not fair that I only get to enjoy it for another 24 hours. "I need help escorting Kate, Claire, Aaron, and Charlie to the helicopter."

Ben turns to face me with another curious look. "What?"

"I'm getting them off the island."

"I'm sorry," Ben starts, "but I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I've seen it. It was part of my visions. When I had those nosebleeds? I saw them fly away in the helicopter." _No. That's a lie. Kate wasn't with them. _"Ben? What's wrong?"

He snaps his head up and plasters on a false smile. "Hm?"

"You look sad."

"Do I?" he sighs.

"What is it?"

"You've changed so much since you first arrived." Ben clears his throat. "I'm proud of you."

I'm surprised by this news. I mean, I realize I've changed _somewhat_. I've lost weight, I've grown a temper, and I at least know the basics of defending myself. But I don't think of any of those things as drastic. "How have I changed?"

"Well, for starters, you stand up straight now. It makes you look confident," Ben says, finally flashing me a small smile. "Even when I can tell you don't have a clue what's going on."

"Gee, thanks."

"You can hold a conversation without choking on your own saliva."

I snort.

"You can fight well enough to protect yourself."

"Maybe against an army of rats," I counter, "but not against trained soldiers."

He ignores my comments. "You seem happier."

"I . . . I am happier. Which seems unfair to me."

His grip on my hand tightens. "There is nothing unfair about your happiness. You deserve to be happy."

"No," I say, "it's unfair that I won't get to enjoy it for very long. I mean, just look at this place_. It shouldn't exist!_ It's too perfect! And I get to stay here for, what? A day and a half? How is that fair?"

He ignores me again. "Have I mentioned you've acquired a subtle gracefulness?"

"Like the time I flipped you off?"

"Cora."

"Or the time I fractured your arm," I continue.

"Cora."

"Or when I—"

"Cora?" Ben interrupts.

"What?"

"I can't feel my hand."

I look down and see just how discolored I've made his twisted up fingers. I hastily release them and apologize.

Ben's false smile slowly fades away, and he turns to look out at the water with an air of disappointment. "I'm not doing a very good job of cheering you up."

There it is again—that look. That mournful look despite nothing horrible having transpired yet. You'd think from his expression that there had been a death in the family, or something equally morbid. _Why won't he tell me what's going on?_

"I love you," he declares out of nowhere, still looking out at the water.

Once, many years back when I was still a child, I received a blow to the stomach from one of my sisters. We were wrestling over a hairbrush and one of her flailing limbs caught me in the midsection and knocked the wind out of me so hard I felt like I might pass out. I stare at Ben as the same sensation hits me deep in the stomach.

"I just needed you to know," he says calmly, finally turning to look at me. "I just needed to tell you."

I say what might be the absolute worst response to a confession of love. "Hannon le."

Ben tilts his head ever so slightly, reminding me of Brandon when he's confused. "What does that mean?"

_Hannon le_ means thank you, but I'm not about to tell him that. It's one of the first phrases I learned when I studied Tolkien's Elven languages. I just pray Ben isn't trying to be polite by faking ignorance. "You don't speak Sindarin?"

His lips turn up at one end in the smirk I've come to associate as cleverly disguised sadness. "I did once, a long time ago."

"You never practiced after I—?" _Died._ "—left?" I add lamely.

Ben lets out an airy sigh and turns back towards the water. "I'm afraid I had no use for it. It's a beautiful language, but once you left I had no one to continue my lessons with. Richard took it upon himself to teach me Latin, but he did not, unfortunately, know Sindarin. I would have come here for instruction, had I known it existed." Ben pauses to lift his head and gaze at the faint glow of the lanterns lighting the balconies above us. "You still have not told me what hannon le means."

I'm thankful for the darkness, so my warming face is less noticeable. "It means—" _They're just words. Only words. Remember Brandon. _"It means I . . . I like you."

"You like me?" he questions.

I don't know what I feel anymore. Ben is the first male that has ever been interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me, and he's definitely the first male I've actually considered pursuing a romantic relationship with. But that still doesn't change the fact that I don't know him. Even if he were just like the Ben in the show, I _still _wouldn't know him.

I'm half his age, and I'll be the first to admit that he's not conventionally attractive, but in the grand scheme of things, neither of those aspects matter to me. I find him attractive in ways that other women probably don't. His eyes, for example, were described to me once as _bulbous, freaky doll eyes_, but all I notice when I look at them are their curious and expressive nature. I'm developing a sense of what he's feeling just by reading the emotion hiding within their blue hue. His lips are thin and pale—not lip-injection-plump, like the shirtless men on the covers of dollar store romance novels my sisters would secretly buy after school—but when they spread across his face in a smile, or pull up on one side in a smirk, I can't help but feel happy.

And holy shit he smells good.

My happy mood is tainted with regrets. I enjoy being around him. Sometimes a little too much. _Why didn't I get to spend more time with him? Why does the world seem to conspire against me so often? I finally find someone who cares about me, and then we can't even go on a regular date without people shooting at us. _"Ben," I say softly, "I don't know you. You've known me for three years, and I've only known you for, what? Three months, if even that? It's not fair, but . . . it's just the way it is."

"I see," he says, and it's hard to tell just how disappointed he really is.

"There seems to be quite a lot I don't know about you."

"Ask, and I will tell all."

"I have a better idea." I reach down to yank two white flowers out of the surrounding grass and hand him one. "We'll play a game of _I've never_."

"I've never what?"

"That's what the game is called. I've never. Rules go like this . . . I say a statement that starts with _I've never _and then if you have done the thing I never have, you have to pluck a petal off your flower. Then it's your turn to say a statement, and it keeps going back and forth until one of us runs out of petals. The loser is the first one to end up with a bald flower."

Ben studies the white flower, twirling the stem between his thumb and forefinger. "And what do I receive when I win?"

"Overconfident much?" I can't help but laugh. "I don't know . . . what do you want?"

It comes bursting out of him with such fervidity that it makes me wonder how long he's been waiting to ask for it. "A lock of your hair."

"Okay, I know you probably don't mean it to be, but that is extremely creepy." I think back on earlier today when one of the girls brushing my hair took some of it out of my brush and kept it. Not to mention one of Alex's first requests upon meeting me was to touch my hair. "What is with you people and my hair? It's freaking me out."

"It is rumored to hold the secrets of true happiness."

"What the hell?"

"Do we have a deal?"

I throw my hands up in defeat. "Yeah . . . sure. Whatever. As long as you promise not to use it for some kind of freaky voodoo ritual, you can have some of my hair."

"Theoretically speaking, if you were to win, what would you want?"

Thinking up a prize for yourself shouldn't be as hard as I'm making it out to be, but when I'm put on the spot, my mind goes blank. I think of something stupid and laugh.

"What?" he asks.

"Okay, if I win, you have to let me put makeup on you tomorrow for the party."

Ben's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I laugh again when his nose wrinkles slightly in distaste. He takes a seat on the mossy floor and says, "It is imperative that I win, then. May I go first?"

I shrug, taking a seat next to him near the bank of the pond. "Sure. Give me your worst."

"I've never had the ability to understand animal speech."

"Oh, come on," I complain. "You can't do that one. That's cheating!"

"How? I'm playing the game exactly the way you said to." Ben sits up straighter and points a finger at my flower. "I believe you're supposed to remove a petal."

"Cheating scum," I grumble and let one of the petals blow away into the water. "Alright, fine. I've never been nearsighted."

"I'm farsighted, but good guess." Ben smiles. "I've never been a woman."

"You've got to be kidding me." I pull out another petal and toss it away. "Ben, we're really not playing this game the way it was intended. We're supposed to be learning more about each other, not stating obvious facts."

"I play to win," he declares. "I'm not about to let you put makeup on me."

I accidently lie. Well, kind of accidently. I've only been to Disneyland once, and I was so young I hardly remember it. There is no way Ben's been there. I hope. "I've never been to Disneyland."

Ben immediately raises an eyebrow. "That's not true."

"How do _you_ know that?"

"You told me about it once."

_Ugh. Future self, you're really letting me down._

"I think you should lose two petals for lying," Ben suggests.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He sighs, staring off at the water with a bitter frown.

_Unbelievable. _His childish pout makes me burst into hysterical laughter. I haven't laughed this hard since I don't know when. It feels good. "Here," I rip out three, "happy now, you big baby?"

"Marginally," he answers.

"I've—" I glance around to make sure no one has snuck up on us unawares, and then I lower my voice. "I've never stolen a baby before."

His lips press together while he takes a quick survey of the area for himself. "Should I be worried as to how you came by that information?"

"Alex doesn't know, if that's what you're asking."

Ben removes a petal. "I've never had a sibling." His triumphant face falls when he sees my expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you homesick."

The questions go on for nine more rounds before we each end up with one last petal. I'm so desperate for a victory that I'm barely thinking straight. I ask anything I believe he hasn't done yet. "I've never . . . I've never killed someone before."

With a completely serious face, Ben asks, "When you say _someone_, are you referring to animals or are we strictly talking about humans?"

"Ah . . . humans?"

Ben doesn't even twitch.

_Huh. Interesting._

"Prepare for defeat," Ben announces with a smile. "I've never rode on the back of a polar bear."

"Hey, genius," I tease. "Neither have I."

Ben's victory smirk vanishes. "What are you talking about?"

"Hasn't happened yet. I've never even officially met a polar bear before. How could you slip up like that?"

I barely hear his annoyed growl over the sound of the crashing waterfall. _I still have a chance to win! I just need to think of something he's never done before, and I win! I need something good. I need something absolutely foolproof._

The opportunity to plaster Ben's face with makeup has made me giddy to the point of nauseousness. It comes tumbling out of me without warning. "I've never had sex before."

_Holy shit._

Ben looks just as mortified as I feel.

I wait patiently on baited breath, sweating up at storm and trying desperately to keep my breathing even, but just as I think he's about to take his turn and claim his prize, he reaches up and plucks the last petal.

It takes a moment for his actions to sink in. I search his face to try and see if he's lying, but he won't look at me. "Are you . . . are you serious?"

"I promised I would never lie to you," he explains, dark red embarrassment spreading across his face.

A disturbing rush of jealousy and disappointment clouds my common sense until I feel like I might throw up. I liked the idea of someone being so affected by my death that they chose never to love another. But then again, he never said anything about love. Maybe it was strictly a physical thing. Maybe—

"You're angry with me," he says.

I've broken out in even more nervous sweat, despite the chilly night air blowing towards us off the water. "I'm not angry."

"You are." Ben looks down at his hands, and then focuses on a pond lily floating closer to our spot near the pond's edge. "It was only one time," he answers quietly, "a long time ago. I was . . . I was your age. It was my birthday, actually." At this his face flushes even darker. I nod in a panicked attempt to drop the conversation, but Ben takes it as approval to continue. "She was a friend."

_Please stop talking. I don't want to hear this._

"An old friend. She . . . it's very complicated—"

"Stop," I interrupt. "Please. It's none of my business." It dawns on me all at once. I know who she was. _Why didn't I notice it before?_

Jane.

There's always this odd vibe whenever the two of them are near one another, but I had always brushed it off. Jane usually sasses everyone except the Others current leader, but even after Ben's power transferred over to me, she still continued to treat him with a sort of respectful indifference. She's always the one to come randomly charging out of nowhere to save him. They look like they might be about the same age, and he said it was an old friend. It all adds up.

"Game's over. You lose." I toss the remains of my flower into the water. "Goodnight."

"You said you weren't mad at me." Ben reaches out and grabs hold of my wrist. "You asked me a question, and I told you the truth."

Warped possessiveness consumes every thought, every emotion within me. We're married. Ben is _my _husband, and he's supposed to be _mine_, and some other woman has already been as physically close to him as one person can be to another.

My mind starts reverting back to the dark days of my youth. Back to the days when I was forced to watch my mother swallow her tears while my father went out whoring. Back when I swore to myself that I would never marry, so I would never have to deal with infidelity.

I ignore the tiny rational voice in my head pleading: _The two of you weren't even married yet when it happened, you psychopath! He thought you were dead! What, Cora? Was he supposed to be miserable and alone for the next 28 years? Mourn your memory by staying chaste? Would that have made you feel better? You selfish bitch! He's a human being, not a conquest. _And I guess, in the end, I am selfish. "I'm not angry, Ben."

"Cora, it's not what you think. I . . . let me explain—"

"I'm half your age," I interrupt, and he silences. "Tomorrow you will have been alive for forty years, and I'll only be twenty-one. I've already gone half-crazy with loneliness in my short lifetime, so I can't imagine what it would be like to live here for twice that." I start taking small steps backwards, itching to flee this situation. I give him my cheeriest smile. "Honestly, Ben. Let's just forget we ever had this conversation, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

I leave him seated in the moss while I listen as the crash of the waterfall gets farther and farther away.

The hallways are lit with torches, but even in the daylight I don't know where I am. I turn the corner but immediately jump back to avoid being seen by the people occupying it. Richard and Jane lean into one another, their foreheads resting together. I turn to try and find another way to my room, but then I hear Jane ask, "Why does _she_ have to go with us? She's pregnant. She'll only slow us down."

_Oh, hell no. _It is in that moment that I decide to stay.

"Cora can take care of herself," Richard declares, and I find myself puffing up with self-assurance. _Damn right I can. _"You just need to worry about keeping yourself safe."

"I will," Jane whispers.

"And remember to—"

"Richard," Jane interrupts, but not unkindly. "I'll be alright. I promise."

"I know you will." Richard pulls away, smiling, and brings a hand up to cup the side of her face. "You should get some sleep."

Jane gives a small nod and takes a few steps backwards. Her expression soon gives way to—fear? Impossible. I've never met a more fearless woman.

Jane suddenly closes the distance between the two of them and clings to Richard in a desperate embrace. She rests her head on Richard's chest while he rests his chin on the top of her head.

"It's okay to be afraid, Jane."

"I'm not afraid," she refutes stubbornly.

"You don't have to go. We discussed this—"

"I have to go," she argues, pulling out of his arms and wiping at her eyes. "I can't stay here and do nothing. I just can't."

Richard nods, and then he reaches up to rub away her tears with his thumb. "Io ti amo con tutto il mio cuore," he whispers.

_Good Lord, how many men does that woman have wrapped around her stupid little finger?_ I press my back into the stonewall behind me, seething with jealousy while simultaneously feeling guilty because now I _know_ that this is definitely not a conversation that I'm supposed to be listening in on.

Jane wipes the last of the tears away and walks off with the straight-backed rigidness I'm used to seeing. Richard stands alone for a brief moment in silence. I watch as his shadow dances in the flickering torchlight. Then he asks, "How long do you plan on standing there?"

I tense up, wondering if he's somehow seen me even with his back turned. I give it a second just to make sure.

Richard turns completely around, so he's staring right at my hiding place. "Didn't your mother teach you it's impolite to listen in on other people's conversations?"

I step out into the light, ashamed. "Sorry."

"I thought you were with Ben."

I point down the hallway. "He's by the waterfall."

Richard nods. Up close I can see the shadows under his dark eyes. "In that case, I suggest you go get some sleep. You'll need to be well rested before we leave. I'm afraid we won't be sleeping regularly once we're out in the jungle."

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

"How well do you know this place?"

"The Temple?" he asks. "Well enough. What do you need?"

"I need you to take me somewhere quiet." I watch as one of the banners hanging overhead trembles slightly in the breeze. "Somewhere I can pray."

* * *

The Temple offers a non-denominational sanctuary for prayer and meditation. I take a seat on one of the many spaces near a scroll painted to look like the Virgin Mary, and I bow my head in prayer.

I pray for my safety, Ben's safety, Richard and Jane and Charlie and Claire and the rest of the survivors' safety. I pray for the strength to stop Keamy from killing my friends. I pray for the strength to do whatever I have to do to keep this Temple safe.

When I open my eyes, my face is wet with tears. "Do you believe in Hell, Richard?"

Richard stands near me, contemplating the scroll. It is a lifetime before he answers, "Yes."

My mother raised me with horror stories of sin and eternal damnation. We were raised to be unsexual beings. Murder would get you thrown into Hell. Lying would get you thrown into Hell. Thievery would get you thrown into Hell. Sex would get you thrown into Hell. Thinking about sex would get you thrown into Hell. It left me confused, distraught, and overprotective of myself. I had so many questions, but no one to give me answers. "I'm afraid of Hell," I admit aloud. "I don't want to end up there."

Richard turns to fix me with a curious look. "What makes you think you'll end up in Hell?"

"You tell me. You already know what I'm like in the future."

* * *

While scrubbing me clean, Gail rambles on about something one of the children said, but the insurmountable disappointment over Ben's confession, fury over Jane, and fear of Keamy have already overpowered me, and I begin to sob over the sound of her meaningless comforts.

"What's this?" Gail's soft hands brush away my tears.

"I'm going to get someone killed, Gail. I just know it."

"Hush, now." She runs her nimble fingers through my wet, tangled hair. "You are the fiercest warrior I've ever know."

"But I'm not," I sob. "Not yet. That's not me. I'm not a warrior. I can't keep these people safe. I'm . . ."

Gail dumps a bucket of water over my head.

* * *

I calm down once I'm dried off and wrapped up in my nightgown. Brandon hops up next to me on the bed, already having forgiven me for this morning. I hold him in my lap and kiss the top of his head.

Gail approaches the side of my bed, dragging a small table. She slaps down a sheet of white paper and offers me a pen.

"No quill?" I joke.

Gail smiles. "You had a quill once. Snapped it in half the first day and swore never to use another one for as long as you live."

Having a pen in my hand helps my restless mind settle. Writing has always held power over me. It's the only other outlet besides eating that kept me going day after day back when I lived under the same roof as my father.

I test out the ink by rolling the tip in circles over the paper. Five circles later and sharp black ink rolls out in thin lines.

"If you won't be needing me, Lady Cora, I'll take my leave."

"Okay. Goodnight Gail."

"Goodnight, my Lady."

Gail shuts the door with a soft click, and I begin to write.

* * *

In the morning, I awake to a soft rapping on my door. "Gail?" I mumble, swinging out of bed, yanking on the heavy door handle, and stepping aside to let her in.

I find Ben instead. "Happy birthday," he says, quickly looking away. "Should I come back later?"

I rub my tired eyes. "Come back for what?"

"I assumed you'd want a head start on my makeup."

I'm suddenly wide-awake. "Oh." _Say something. _"You don't have to."

Ben still won't look at me. "You won, fair and square."

"Ben, I'm not putting makeup on you." What was once hilarious last night is no longer even chuckle worthy to me.

"Okay," he says slowly, drawing out the end of the word and then clipping it short so the air feels stagnant. "I was wondering if we could talk about last night."

"I don't want to talk about last night."

Ben's face turns to stone, and I feel horrible all over again. His eyes travel behind me and fixate on something.

"Do you want to come in?" I ask awkwardly. "I never showed you my room."

He looks ready to reject my offer, but before he can say anything, I pull him inside and shut the door behind him. Looking around the room, I give it a nod of acceptance. "Pretty nice, right?"

"My suspicions were correct. This is much nicer than the room I was placed in." Ben points to the large wooden wardrobes leaning against the far wall. "What are in those? If you don't mind my asking."

I gesture to the one on the right. "That one holds all my clothes. There's a very pretty gown Gail's going to dress me in for the party. You want to see it?"

Ben shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "I'll wait until I can see it on you," he says. "What's in the other one?"

"The other one goes to Narnia."

"Really?" he asks with raised eyebrows.

"Uh . . . actually, I don't know." I walk over and throw the doors open, immediately taking a step back. Hanging from hooks on the insides of the doors are two short blades sheathed in matching cases. On the opposite door hangs a long sword, the metal gleaming in the light of the torches. A beautiful, intricately carved bow hangs on the backboard of the wardrobe, flanked with multiple quivers filled with arrows. I reach in and pull one out. The feathers used on the backs of the arrows are bright white, and for a second I wonder why the Temple would make arrows out of such a stark color. _It's not very efficient when trying to hide in a green and earthy brown jungle._

And then it dawns on me. "Are these swan feathers?"

I hand the arrow to Ben, and he inspects them. "Possibly."

"Oh, no. That's why . . . ugh."

"That's why what?" Ben asks curiously, but when he looks at me, his eyes immediately dart away.

"I had a run-in with a few swans yesterday. I guess now I know why."

"This is a well made arrow," he comments, handing it back to me while staring at the floor.

I return the arrow to the quiver and shut the wardrobe doors. "I don't think I've said it yet, so, happy birthday."

"Thank you," he says to the floor.

_How long is he going to act like this? Is it because he's still embarrassed from last night? _"At least look at me when I'm talking to you," I snap.

"I should let you get ready for the day." He tries to sidestep me, but I place a hand on his chest to stop him.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask.

"Cora," he says, still staring at the floor.

"_What_?"

"I can see through your nightgown."

* * *

I sit seated on a high-backed chair at the far end of a long banquet table. Ben sits at one side, and Aiko sits at my other. All of the children have claimed seats, but not all of the people I evacuated from the Barracks can fit at the table. Those without a seat have been placed nearby on a large spread of blankets. Food is scattered from one side of the blankets to the other, and none of the people currently sitting there look unhappy.

Even though the party is outside, the voices of all these people combined rise to deafening levels. Everyone is talking to someone about something. Aiko periodically tugs on my dress sleeve and asks me questions.

It took three hours for Gail to prepare me for this feast. Two hours were spent on my hair. The sides are pulled up in a confusing layer of interwoven braids within braids within ribbons within braids. Gail calls it braidception.

The gown that was hanging in my wardrobe fits, thank God. Made of white and gold material soft to the touch, the billowy gown falls just above my feet, so I won't trip on it. My long sleeves are made of a sheer, weightless material. I feel ridiculous, but so far I've received nothing but compliments. The second Sawyer saw me, he grabbed me by the arm and twirled me around yelling, "Mama mia!" over and over and over until I was nauseous. I had to kick him in the shin to get him to stop.

A plate of delicious looking fruit is placed in front of me at the banquet table. I take a few different slices of some bright green thing and pass the tray to the next person, who just so happens to be Ben. I've caught him stealing glances at me all afternoon, but he still refuses to make eye contact. It's frustrating because I don't know what's wrong.

Dogen makes his way to the front steps leading down to the courtyard where the party is taking place, and he loudly calls for attention. All of the children fall silent, and it is the adults who look around in confusion at the sudden decrease in noise. "Good evening," Dogen announces. "We have gathered here today in celebration. Cora has returned to us."

I jolt in my seat as the courtyard breaks out in cheers. "Should we be making this much noise? What if someone outside the walls hears us?" I ask Ben, but he is deep in his own thoughts. "Ben?"

He looks up from his fruit, startled. "Yes?"

Before I can ask him what's wrong, Dogen holds up a hand for silence and continues. "For those of you who do not know . . . Cora will be leaving us in the morning."

The cheers turn into frightened whispers and loud questioning. One of the girls down the table jumps up out of her seat and screams, "No!"

"What the hell is he doing?" I hiss. _I didn't want everyone to know!_

Aiko grabs my sleeve and tugs it worriedly. "Don't leave us! You've only just arrived!"

"Our way of life has been threatened by an outsider," Dogen continues. "They are currently on our doorstep, just off the coastline of this great island. Their plan is to ambush us and kill Cora."

I thought that the noise could not become louder than it already was, but, unfortunately, I was wrong.

A tall, lanky redheaded boy yells, "Dumb bastards! I'd love to see 'em try!"

The dark skinned girl sitting next to him gives him a shove. "Don't swear in front of Anita! She's only six, you ignoramus!"

"As is customary," Dogen yells over the chaos, "the competition will begin shortly after the banquet!"

"Competition?" I yell, but my voice is lost in the tangled cacophony of angry children. "What is he talking about?"

"I don't know," Ben shouts back.

"It is the competition to compete at your side, Lady Cora," Aiko answers. "Don't you remember?"

"Tell me more, Aiko."

Peter's voice carries over the others, and all heads turn to him. "I volunteer as first contender."

"I'll challenge that," a young woman with dark black hair and tanned skin the color of caramel announces.

"Anjali will be difficult to defeat." Aiko smiles excitedly. "Lady Cora, will you please describe what's happening once the competition begins?"

"Aiko, what is this?"

Gail, who has walked up behind my seat, says, "You always have a coverguard during war. It is tradition."

"What's a coverguard?"

"A person who fights directly alongside you. Usually it is your spouse, but . . . circumstances have changed."

_What is that supposed to mean? _I look to Ben for an explanation, but he pushes back out of his seat and walks away. I push out of my seat to follow him.

"No," Gail says sharply and yanks me back down. "You will insult the competitors. They are sacrificing their safety for a chance to fight alongside you. You must watch the match in its entirety in order to show respect for that sacrifice."

I cannot focus on the match. My mind is swirling with a thousand different thoughts. It is only when Aiko tugs on my sleeve and asks for an update that I pay attention to the sparring match.

The woman—Anjali—swivels away from every attack Peter throws at her. Where Peter is all brute strength, Anjali is a viper. She bides her time and then twists to the side, extending her entire leg upwards in a forceful kick. Her foot makes contact with Peter's face so hard that he goes sprawling backwards in the dirt.

Children up and down the banquet table pound their fists in a rhythmic beat while cheering Anjali's name.

"Does anyone dare challenge me?" she cries to the crowd.

"I do," Alexi answers.

Their contest does not last long. Alexi is quicker on his feet than Peter was, but he is still no match for Anjali. She has him crawling away to the sidelines before I can even explain to Aiko what's going on.

"I am the coverguard!" she yells to the cheering crowd. "Does anyone challenge me?"

When no other challengers come forward, Dogen makes the official announcement.

"You must go down there and thank Anjali for her sacrifice," Gail whispers in my ear. "And for the love of God, don't try to dissuade her from fighting. This is a grand honor, and it deserves praise. Now, go."

* * *

When all has relatively settled down. I find myself listening to a choir performance. All of the children—aside from Anjali, who now sits next to me in Ben's old seat—gather in the middle of the courtyard to sing mainly Christmas Carols.

Everything is going wonderfully until the children begin singing _I'll be Home for Christmas. _

I won't be home for Christmas.

I won't ever be home.

Upset about far too many different things, I push up out of my seat. "Anjali, if anyone asks, I'm not to be disturbed."

"Will you not stay for your birthday cake, Lady Cora?"

"No," I say. "I'm going to go talk to my husband. Please inform anyone seeking me out to leave me alone. I don't care if the requests come from an animal or human."

"Of course." Anjali nods. "As you wish."

* * *

I find Ben by accident. While heading to my room, I spot him standing in a darkened corner of the hallway.

When he sees me, his lips pull up in something that resembles a smile. "They have such beautiful voices, don't they?"

"Yes," I agree. "Did I ever tell you that my little brother was in a band?"

"Anyone I would know?"

"Hell no. They were horrible." It's so good to hear him laugh that the sound of it gives me an instant energy boost. "Don't you just hate having a December birthday? I always felt cheated when I was younger. I mean, I either got a birthday present or a Christmas present. It was a total rip off."

"I don't believe in birthdays," he says flatly.

_That's the saddest thing I've heard in a long time. _I lean into his side and feel him tense up. "In a completely non-creepy sense, Ben . . . you smell really good."

"You once told me I smell like an advertisement for masculinity."

I laugh so hard the side of my stomach cramps up. "I did not!"

"You did. Although you wouldn't have remembered it. As I recall, you were drugged." The humor dies out of the conversation almost as quickly as it arrived. "We have not yet heard back from Todd."

My stomach sinks at this news. _It could mean anything, Cora. Todd's smart and fast and he knows this island well. He's probably still trying to find Nadia. He'll be back. _The faint caroling wafting in from the courtyard has lost its charm. "I don't want to hear this music anymore," I say. "It's making me sad. Can we please go somewhere else?"

Ben inhales deeply, and then lets it all out slowly through his nose. "Yes," he sighs. "It is time I tell you something."

* * *

I stand next to an etching of a polar bear on the wall of my room. "We're all going to die." There have been more than a few moments in my life when I wouldn't have cared if I had fallen off the face of the earth. But now I care. Now I have someone who cares about my safety just as much as I care about his. It's the first time I've had a purely reciprocated relationship.

"No, we're not," Ben says simply.

I sigh a laugh. "That's rather optimistic, considering our situation."

"I'm going to leave. Tonight."

I run my fingers over the deep etchings of a polar bear. "And go where? The Barracks aren't safe anymore."

"No," he refutes, "I'm going to leave the island."

I spin away from the mural. "What?"

"Charles Widmore isn't here for me," he says softly. "He's here for you. And the only way I can make sure you're safe, make sure he can't get to you . . . is to move the island. I've known what I must do since you first told me of your visions. The frozen wheel, remember?"

_Oh, God. No, no, no. I was just starting to be happy. I was just starting to get used to being able to trust someone, and now that someone is leaving me._ "You can't leave," I say forcefully. "We'll just . . . we'll just get rid of the people from the freighter."

"Cora, we can destroy that freighter and everyone on it, and Widmore would only bring more to the island. Now that he's found it, he will never let us live in peace. He won't stop attacking us until either you're dead, or he is."

I'm starting to panic. "Then just send somebody else to move the wheel."

He shakes his head. "It has to be me."

"Why?" I snap, rushing forward to frown up at his face. "Why does it have to be you?"

Ben stares down at me, those deep blue eyes filled with something worse than sadness. "I'm the only one who can monitor Widmore out there in the world. Figure out what he wants and why. I'm the only one capable of keeping him away from this island. Away from you." One of his hands rests lightly against the side of my face.

I lean into it. "Let me go with you."

Ben shakes his head. "I expect the wheel to yield unpredictable results. You may end up separated in time from me, and you could be dead before I find you again. The place I'm going . . . it's closely monitored by Widmore and his people."

"I could make someone else go in your stead," I offer hastily. "Richard could go."

Ben's lips curve up in a humorless smile. "Richard is your advisor. You need him here."

My heart is racing out of control. "You're my advisor. I officially instate you as my advisor."

Ben shakes his head. "It has to be me, Cora."

"Why?"

I search his eyes for any clues as to what he's thinking, but it still doesn't prepare me for what he says. "I'm going to kill him."

He says it with such cold conviction, such a bland sense of assurance, that for a second I'm frightened. For just a moment I'm reminded of what he's supposed to be like—the man who used people in even worse ways than Jacob did, who murdered in cold blood without a second thought to the lives he was taking. He is supposed to be nothing but a calculating machine doing deeds in the name of a man he had never even met before.

_But why?_

_ Because of his childhood? Is it really that simple? Change his childhood, change his entire being?_

_If I leave with him, he won't turn out this way because I won't be involved with his upbringing. He won't be spared the torturous youth that I had to suffer my entire life. He'll commit the murder of his own father. He'll commit genocide . . . instead of me._

_I can make sure this is the man he grows up to be. But that means I'll never see him again._

"After you move this island . . . I'm never going to see you again, am I?" I try clenching my teeth to stop my swelling throat. "You're going to move the island through time, and I'm never going to see _this_ you ever again because . . ." I inhale deeply—frightened, angry, confused. "Because I die when you're still a child."

He doesn't answer.

I walk back towards the mural, rubbing at my itching eyes. I don't want him to leave. I don't want him somewhere where I can't see that he's alive. I don't want him putting himself in danger.

I don't want to die.

His footsteps make only a soft pat against the floor as he walks up behind me. "Don't leave," he says suddenly, as if the thought has just occurred to him. "Stay with me. You left me with Richard when I was twelve, and you never came back. You died. You . . . you don't have to die. Stay."

"Ben?" A single tear trails down over my nose and drips onto my foot. "Promise me you'll come back."

"I'll promise to come back," he says, "if you promise to stay alive while I'm away."

Turning around to meet him, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. When I pull back, my eyes dart to his. A blush spreads throughout my face when he doesn't look away. I want to kiss him again. I _need _to kiss him again. I want to kiss him until I can no longer feel my lips. I want to make up for all the years that I wasted being sad and alone. He makes me feel safe, and I have never truly felt safe before. More importantly, he makes me feel happy. Happy despite everything.

I reach up to kiss him again, but he doesn't kiss me back. "It's okay," I whisper and pull the straps of my dress off my shoulders.

"No, Cora," he says faintly, placing a gentle hand over mine. "Not like this."

"It's okay," I confirm, but he takes hold of both my hands. A pressure rises up my throat, taunting me with old memories of worthlessness. I can see it in his eyes. I can see the rejection. "Don't you want me?"

"How can you ask that?"

"I'm ready," I lie.

He sees right through my bullshit. "Are you?"

"This is it," I explain, but even my own ears detect the unstableness of my words. "This is our last chance to . . . to be together. I . . . I'm supposed to have a baby."

He snaps to attention. "_Excuse me?_"

"Jacob said so."

"Cora, since when did you start taking Jacob seriously?"

"He said I would have a baby soon. This must be it. This _has _to be it."

Recognition flashes through Ben's eyes, and he narrows his brows ever so slightly in deep thought. Something dawns on him and his face fills with surprise. Then the moment is over, and he's stepping away from me. "You're afraid," he states. "You're afraid about what you must do tomorrow, and that's okay. But I won't take advantage of your fear. I can't."

And, as usual, he's right. This whole thing is being fueled by fear. I want to vomit far more than I want to take my clothes off. I'm scared. I'm terrified. Every single fear and doubt floods my mind at once until my every waking thought is of death. _I'm going to die. Even if Keamy doesn't manage to kill me, I'm still going to die in the 70's. I'm going to die, and I'll be stuck with a prepubescent husband. I'll never see my mother or brother or sisters again._

_I'm going to die alone._

The first sob escapes me in a burst of panic, and the rest follow afterwards with a strangely peaceful fluidity. I rest my head against his chest, and he holds me tightly to him.

Ben runs a comforting hand over my shoulders. "Please don't cry," he whispers into my hair.

"Will you stay with me?" I somehow manage to choke out. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and smiles. "Of course."

I've had bad birthdays, and I've had unbearably bad birthdays, but nothing compares to this.

Nothing comes even close.

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, Ben is already gone. A letter written on the paper Gail gave me lies in his place.

_Cora,_

_It is easier for us both if I leave while you're asleep. We've said goodbye once, and I fear I wouldn't be able to do so a second time. Use the walkie I entrusted to Gail to inform me when you've reached the helicopter. Please be careful. Keep close to Richard and Jane. I trust them both._

_Don't leave me with Richard when I'm young, and you'll live. Stay with me, Cora, and you won't die. Remember this._

_I have always loved you,_

_Ben_

The letter falls from my fingers and flutters to the floor.

I lie back down on my bed and fold into myself, hollowed out and exhausted, as I wait for Gail to burst in and wish me good morning.


	28. I'll Be Home For Christmas

Los Angeles, 2006 (Two Years After Rescue)

_He'll exit Claire's house in 3, 2, 1 . . . there he is. Right on schedule._

_I tuck the prop newspaper I've been pretending to read under my arm and briskly slide my way into the bristling crowds walking up and down the street. Such easygoing people—Californians. Nobody so much as questions my sudden presence, so I continue to use them as a shield. I follow him at a distance, never daring to get too close for fear of being recognized._

_But I continue to observe. I never stop observing._

_I promised Cora I would watch over him. What for? Who knows. I would have promised her the moon if she had asked for it._

_He gets into a car and drives off. I flag a taxi down and instruct them to follow._

_It's been a difficult year for the "Oceanic Six", as the news so lovingly calls them. Ever since the suicide hit the newspapers, the Oceanic Six have been in complete disarray._

_My phone rings. It's Sayid. "Yes?"_

_"It's done."_

_"Good," I reply. "Meet me in Los Angeles for a new name."_

_ "What about—"_

_"I'm currently following him as we speak. He's headed to Evergreen Cemetery. I'll see you in twenty-four hours."_

_I hear the click of disconnection when Sayid hangs up, and I quickly pocket my cell. My fingers brush up against the letter—her letter—and for a second the pain is unbearable. I pull it out of my pocket and let it rest it in the palm of my hand._

_It's written on a crumbled scrap of paper, but it means more to me than any earthly treasure. Enclosed inside, folded deep within the note so I won't lose them, are fifteen strands of her golden hair. I counted. Twice._

_Glancing up to make sure we're still hot on his trail, I gently open the letter, fold by fold. It reads:_

Ben,

I hope this letter reaches you, but I'm not sure of anything anymore. I started writing this with something to say, but now I've gone and lost all my words. I guess what I want to say is that I'm not mad at you. I was never really mad at you. I am jealous, I'll admit that, but I'm not mad. _She's scribbled out the words _You have a right to your own body _But I can still faintly see the letters. _I just want to let you know that we part as good friends.

Please keep a close eye on Locke. He's a good friend, and you'll need him to get back to the island. Be nice to him. He has even less friends than I do. And Ben, I also wanted to tell you that—

_And the rest of the letter—which extends all the way down the front of the page—is written in Tengwar._

_I have not yet translated it. Partially out of fear that those lines do not contain the words I need so desperately to hear, and partially because I don't currently have the time to relearn a fictitious language. I'm far too busy keeping her friends safe by hunting down the bastards that work for Widmore._

_I fold up the letter and sink back into the seat of the cab, fixating on the bizarre turn of events that occurred on my twenty-first birthday._

_Cora was dead. She was gone. I was so lonely that I didn't even question how it was that she was suddenly alive for one night of my miserable existence. A storm had hit the island while I was out for a hike, so I decided to seek shelter in Cora's secret waterfall library until it subsided. The storm only grew worse as time went on, and then suddenly she was there, crashing through the wall of water, wearing tattered blood-soaked war garments that she almost immediately ripped off and flung across the room with a shriek. She began pacing, raking her hands through her tangled hair, and it was a while before she noticed I was in there with her, slumped against a bookshelf. Once she realized who I was, it took almost no effort at all to convince me to give her whatever she wanted for as long as she needed. And I did so, happily. I spent the rest of my life wondering if that night had been my pathetic imagination, or a fever dream, or some other trick of the mind. But now it all makes sense. It had been real. All of it._

_I wanted so badly to tell her about it during our little game of I've never. I fear she thinks I slept with another woman, but I didn't exactly know how to explain it to her. It sounds more than a little pathetic to come right out and ask her to please find twenty-one-year-old me during her time travels and seduce me right out of my clothes._

_I rap my knuckles against the glass separating me from the cab driver. "You can drop me off here, please."_

_After the cab has been paid, I meander through the street leading to the fenced-in Cemetery. My fingers rest nervously against the gun in my coat pocket._

_I've relied on Sayid so far to deal with Widmore's men, but Sayid isn't here right now._

_ As I approach, my heart begins to pound hard in my chest. I don't know if I can do this. But then he turns and sees me, and I watch him reach into his suit. I don't hesitate to put a bullet between his eyes._

_ I watch the blood shoot out the back of his skull as he crumples to the pavement. My ears ring with the blast of my gunshot._

_ He's dead. He's dead, and I've killed him._

_ "Ben?" a voice asks sharply, and I break out of my stupor. I don't know how long I had lost myself. "What have you done? You killed him!"_

_ "He was working for Widmore," I explain, my voice wavering. I clear my throat to steady myself. "I don't know what he's been telling you, John, but he is not your ally."_

_ "And you are?" Locke retorts._

_ "Yes, John, I am."_

_Locke wheels himself closer to me. "What the hell are you even doing here?"_

_ My arm is still raised in the position it was when I shot Abaddon. Slowly, I lower it, tuck away my gun, and try to formulate the words in my head. "The same thing you are. Paying my respects. Would you like me to wheel you over to the grave?"_

_Locke shakes his head, and then covers his face with his hands. "I've failed. I've failed him. I've failed them all."_

_"You couldn't convince your friends to come back to the island with you?"_

_"How do you—?"_

_"You don't honestly think I haven't been keeping tabs on you all, do you? I have Sayid currently flying into Los Angeles as we speak. Hugo's here, Claire and Aaron are here, Sun's . . . well, we'll worry about Sun another time."_

_"No, no," Locke protests. "I've talked to them already. They won't come back. They've all made lives for themselves here. It's hopeless."_

_I have a backup plan—I always do—but it's not foolproof, and it's not going to be as simple as it would have been if Jack hadn't killed himself. I place a hand on Locke's shoulder, trying my best to comfort him even though I am just as distraught. "There is a way you can still help them, but you're not going to like it."_

_Locke looks up in frustration, blinking away tears. "How?"_

_I take in a deep breath and nod at Jack's grave. "We're going to need a shovel."_

* * *

I wear no armor, only ceremonial garb to help conceal me once I'm in the jungle. I stand still while Gail straps wrist guards to the inner parts of my arms so the recoil of my bowstring will not give me bruises.

Anjali stays by my side throughout the entire process.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask her. "I can't guarantee your safety."

"This is my home," she answers proudly. "These children are my brothers and sisters. I have as much right to protect them as you do."

Gail gives me a look that screams for me to leave the conversation alone, but I can't help myself. "You're just a kid," I say.

"I'm a legal adult," Anjali calmly corrects. I can tell by the way her body tightens up that she's furious, but she remains levelheaded. Maybe I do need her with me after all. "I won't be shut away to cower behind these walls while my home is attacked. I want to fight. Besides," she adds, "who would be your Coverguard? Nobody fights alone, Lady Cora. That was your code."

I clasp a hand on her shoulder and give her my most appreciative smile. "Thank you."

Brandon tugs at my pant leg. "But I want to go with you! It's not fair!"

"We've already talked about this, Brandon. You're too young."

"I am not!" he barks. "I can protect you!"

"We're done discussing it, Brandon. You're not going."

He head-butts my shin and runs into the bathroom.

Theon taps his wet nose against the palm of my hand. "He is part of the pack, my lady."

"He's just a pup."

"We all were, at one time. He is nearly half a year old. It is not right to leave him behind."

_No, no, a million times no. I will not fail Eddard. _"He's not going, and I don't want anyone bringing it up again, understood?"

Theon looks back at the bathroom, where Brandon's tantrum yips echo into the bedroom. "Yes, my lady. If you say so."

* * *

The entire Temple has gathered in the courtyard to wish us farewell. Each of the children reaches out and strokes my hair as I pass them by. I've stopped questioning it.

Walt and Vincent follow behind me. Walt changed his mind about staying here, and I don't blame him. Family is family, no matter how dysfunctional. I've promised to reunite him with his father, but only after lecturing about the dangers that lie outside these walls. I couldn't convince him to stay.

Charlie and Claire have prepared to leave, as planned, but Sawyer and Kate have decided to leave as well. I didn't know how to tell them that they were not in my visions. I'm too afraid to think about what that means for their futures.

Locke has decided to join us, and his voice has returned for no apparent reason. He is distraught over the survivors leaving, and plans to persuade them to stay. I told him, "Good luck with that."

A group of Others have joined me. They each have extensive knowledge of this island and are excellent tree climbers in case of emergencies.

I listen to worried whispers throughout the crowd, but I hear one hopeful murmur, "We'll be okay. We have Cora. We can't lose."

I can only hope that's true.

* * *

"You all, everybody. _You all everybody!_"

"Charlie," I interrupt him mid-song, "I'm gonna have to ask you to stop singing."

Sawyer pushes himself past Charlie and smiles at me. "Good call, Artemis. Mr. Drunken Karaoke Night was about ready to make me lose my mind."

"Oh, bugger off, Sawyer," Charlie snaps.

"Hey, not in front of the ladies, Champ."

"Leave him alone, Sawyer," I grumble.

"What did I do? One-Hit-Wonder's the one who won't shut up!"

"Hey, redneck," Jane snaps. "Shut your mouth, or I'll shut it for you."

Sawyer raises his eyebrows, but his expression is the farthest thing from fear. "Well, damn. I might just have to take you up on that offer. It's been a long time since a pretty lady's talked dirty to me."

Jane's face crunches up in a rage. "You—"

"Stop it," I order sharply. "All of you. Shut up."

We march through the trees for what seems like an eternity. I double back every once in a while to check on Claire.

"Do you really trust these people, Cora?"

"No," I answer honestly. "But it's the only chance you have of going home. You need to get Aaron off this island."

She nods in agreement and holds the gurgling baby closer to her chest.

"I can't wait to get home," says Charlie. "We're about to get the band back together."

"My little brother was in a band," I tell him.

"Oh, really? What'd he play?"

"Bass. Like you."

Charlie grins. "Fantastic. What was the band called?"

"Embryonic Laundromat."

To his credit, Charlie as least doesn't cringe. "Ahhhh, that's . . . uh . . ."

"Horrible. Yeah, I know."

Jane looks around and nods to one of the women in the group. "Cora, we're almost there. Do you want us to secure the area?"

"Yes. Send a scouting group."

* * *

Anjali and I sit crouched in a bush looking outward at where Faraday is frantically waving his arms around and fiddling with some sort of metal device. Jane is high in the tree above us, a sniper rifle loaded and ready to give us cover, should we need it.

"I'm going out there," I tell Jane. "Cover me."

Miles is the first to see me. "Hey! _Hey!_" he yells, hurrying in my direction.

I hold a hand up for him to stop. "I would slow down if I were you. I currently have a sniper aiming at your head, and you wouldn't want the person behind the trigger to get the wrong idea, would you?"

Miles slows his pace until he's halted altogether. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question."

"There's a helicopter on its way back here. You know what's on it?"

"People who want to kill me?"

"Yeah, genius," Miles retorts. "People who want to kill you. So, I'll ask again. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Cora?" Faraday eyes me with a strange mix of confusion and wonder. "Cora June Collins?"

"Look," I tell them, "I don't have time for formal introductions. I need both your help."

Faraday doesn't seem to have heard a word I said. "I have notebooks dedicated to you. Your story has fascinated me since I was a boy. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?"

Miles turns to his friend with furrowed brows. "Faraday, man, are you seriously trying to conduct an interview right now?"

"We don't have time for this," I say. "I need your help."

"Hold on," says Miles. _"You_ need _our_ help? The great and powerful Cora needs _our _help? This might just be the greatest day of my life. I would like to thank my mother for birthing me, my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, for giving me that extra cookie during recess—"

I ignore Miles and turn to Faraday. "I need you to take some people to the freighter when the helicopter gets back."

"—I'd like to thank the guy back home who sells illegal CD's out of the back of his Toyoda—"

"What people?" asks Faraday.

I wave a hand and Walt, Claire, Aaron, Charlie, Kate, and Sawyer appears. "These people. Can you make sure they're on the next helicopter out of here? I need to go back to the beach and find Hugo."

"Is he the fat one?" Miles asks.

The word _fat _bounces around in my head like a migraine. I close my eyes and inhale. "What about him?"

"He's already on the freighter. Took the last helicopter out."

_What? _"Who else is out there?"

Miles begins counting off people on his fingers. "Ah . . . lets see, there was the doctor, the fat guy, the Iraqi, some Asian couple, a hot blonde, and a Scottish guy." The sound of blades chopping the air gets louder and louder. "Look," says Miles, "I'd get out of here if I were you. That crazy psycho guy? Keamy? He's been looking for you for a couple days."

"What do you mean?"

Miles holds up his hands. "I don't know details. I just know that he was on our first run, and then he disappeared once we landed. He's been here as long as we have, so I would really run if I were—"

Something wet speckles the side of my face. I reach up to wipe the liquid away, and my hand pulls away red. Anjali yanks my arm hard in the direction of the trees just as I look down and lock eyes with Kate's lifeless figure. I pull against Anjali, but Sawyer takes hold of my other arm, and I cannot fight them both.

"No," I protest. "I have to go . . . I have to go get her."

"She's dead," Anjali yells, shaking me roughly by the shoulders. "And we'll be dead too if we don't move! Get up! Get up, Lady Cora!"

I can't move. This paralysis is stronger than it was the night my mother came home bloody and broken. It is Eddard all over again, only this time I watched it happen.

"Lady Cora," one of the wolves barks. "Theon is dead!"

"Theon," I mumble.

"Cora, get off your ass! We need to move, _now!_"

I don't know where I'm going. I can barely see. Somehow I follow Anjali to a thick patch of foliage. Sawyer crams himself in next to me.

* * *

"What do we do? Cora, I need orders. Cora? Cora? Lady Cora? Sawyer, do something."

Someone is wiping my face down. "Doublemint, we need you to help us out here."

I blink sweat out of my blurry eyes and manage to ask, "Where is everyone?"

"They had sense enough to run," says Anjali. "They're safe for now."

My mouth is dry as cotton. I cannot even form saliva. Ringing, ringing, ringing, all I can hear is the ringing in my ears.

A deep growl of warning breaks a small portion of my shock. "I smell a strange wolf," the female closest to me says.

"As do I," another agrees.

"What is it?" Sawyer asks. "What are they saying?"

I see him before I can answer. Swift, like an oversized Todd, a great gray wolf appears out of the trees and sprints straight for us.

"Stop!" warns the wolf nearest me. "Stop, or we attack!"

But the huge wolf doesn't stop. One by one the wolves around me charge forward and collide with this strange newcomer. Another appears out of the corner of my vision, and I notch an arrow on my bow out of habit. Before I can shoot, Robb leaps out at him and I can no longer tell which wolf is trying to kill me and which one belongs to my pack.

Anjali points upward. "We have to get up in the trees, Lady Cora. Go!"

With the help of a boost from Sawyer, I climb up onto a low hanging branch and shimmy my way upward. I hear the cries of both wolves I know and wolves I don't. I reach a high enough branch and notch an arrow, but it is no use.

_This was my nightmare. It was a warning. How was I supposed to know that a portion of the soldiers here to kill me would be trained animals?_

I listen to the bloodshed below, and I vomit.

* * *

Cool night air blows swift and strong from our seats in the tree. Moonlight shines down and illuminates the corpses littering the ground. One lone wolf has survived, and he claws at the trunk of the tree we're in, chanting, "Slaughter, kill, rip to shreds, destroy."

I waited until after sunset to deal with him. If I cannot see him, it helps. It doesn't make it better, but it helps enough for me to muster the courage to do it.

I pull out an arrow, notch it, and release it into his skull.

* * *

None of them have survived. The stench of blood is so thick it's making me dizzy. I fall to my knees, hanging my head in defeat. The mangled body of Robb lies strung out in front of me.

There's a hand on my shoulder. "Cora," Sawyer whispers. "I'm sorry. Honey, I'm so sorry."

* * *

"Cora? How're you doing?"

I look around as if there were some other Cora that Jane could be addressing. "I'm fine," I say, slightly appalled that she should think otherwise.

"You just watched friends die."

"People die all the time." I shrug. "It happens."

"You must eat," says Jane. I don't know when she found us. I don't even remember it becoming morning. Jane throws a banana in my lap. "You have to keep up your strength."

I toss the banana away.

"Cora, look, I'm sorry your friends died, but there's nothing you could do. I tried to find the son of a bitch who shot Kate, but he was long gone before I could get to him. We've tried tracking him, but he must prance like a fairy because we couldn't find a trail."

I toss the banana away again.

"Stop it, Cora. You need to eat."

"If I eat, I'll throw up."

The next time Jane tosses a banana at me, I shoot up from my seat in the dirt and throw it as hard as humanly possible back at her. "_YOU EVER THROW SOMETHING AT ME AGAIN, I'LL RIP YOUR FACE OFF!"_

Jane smacks the banana away, annoyed. "Calm down."

"_CALM DOWN?_" I scream, and then I completely lose my mind. A part of me shifts into memory, reciting every fighting lesson I've received since arriving here. But another part, the unstable part, has no use for formalities. It is this savagery that is my ultimate downfall.

Jane knocks me down and twists an arm behind my back. "Are you done?" she yells in my ear. "I said _are you done?_"

"Jane!" says a sharp voice. "What the hell are you doing? Get off of her!"

"She's out of her damn mind, Richard!"

The weight of Jane on my spine is removed, and I roll over onto my back, panting.

"She attacked me," Jane seethes. "Crazy bitch."

"That's enough," Richard growls, and Jane silences. "Cora? Get up."

I want to, but my muscles won't work. Anjali helps me to my feet. With my head somewhat cleared, I ask, "Where is Claire? Aaron? Where are they?"

"We're right here," Claire answers softly.

I count them all. Claire, Aaron, Charlie, Sawyer, Anjali, Jane, Richard, Locke, me.

Jack didn't listen to me. Jack did what he wanted, and now Kate is dead.

Kate is dead.

Kate Austin, the female lead in the show, is dead.

It is official. Anyone at anytime can be killed off. Everyone is fair game.

My stomach sinks at the sight of them all. It's just dawned on me that there is someone missing. "Walt. Where is Walt?"

* * *

I hold the blade close to the front of my skull, and I slash upwards. A chunk of hair breaks loose in my hand, and I quickly fold the strands into the letter I wrote. "You want answers, John? Here's your chance." I tell him how to find the Orchid Station. "Here," I say, handing the folded scrap of paper to Locke. "Can you please give that to Ben when you see him?"

"Sure will. Are you positive this is how I can bring them all back?"

"You've had visions, too. You know what needs to be done. Ask Ben for clarification when you get there."

Locke nods.

"You think you can do it?" I ask.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then I suggest you get going."

* * *

I can see him. He's in plain view, which is why I've called for my people to hold their fire. Something isn't right about all this.

Keamy walks out into the open and holds up an arm. "I know you'd really like to gut me right now, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your friends on the freighter? They're currently standing on a ship full of explosives." He spins around dramatically, holding up an arm. "See this little blinking light? It's a heart monitor. It stops blinking if my heart stops beating, and if that were to happen . . . bye bye freighter."

I sit huddled next to Anjali, my clenched fists shaking, as the bastard whistles to one of his men. Another soldier appears carrying three small animal cages.

"What do we have, guys?" Keamy yells. "Okay, we've got a cat, a fox, and a puppy here, so you better come out or they all die."

I make to stand up, but Anjali pulls me back down. "You can't, Lady Cora. They'll kill you!"

I stay perfectly still until someone leads Walt out and kicks him to his knees. I can hear him sobbing from way over here.

Walt is the final straw.

"Anjali, stay here."

"I can't leave you—"

"Anjali," I snap. "That is an order. If you have any respect for me at all, you'll obey." And with that, I reveal myself.

I've always held a fear of death. It was never really the pain I was afraid of, it was the uncertainty of whether or not I was going to heaven that scared me so much. But now, looking into the eyes of my doom, I find I am not afraid. I have a pretty good idea where Keamy is going after death.

"You must be the freak Widmore told me about. The animal whisperer?"

"Let the boy go," I order.

Keamy holds up his hands. "Hey, I'm not here to kill kids. I'm just here to kill you." He nods to the man holding Walt hostage, and they give him a toss towards the trees.

Walt stumbles forward, choking on his own tears. He glances back at me, unsure.

"Go," I tell him. He hesitates only a second longer before breaking out in a sprint. I wait for the fear to finally grip me, but all I feel is relief. "Well, you have me. You going to kill me?"

Keamy laughs. "No, we have plenty of time for that later. I'm just so excited to finally meet you. Let's test you out first. Forgive me, but I'm a skeptic."

Keamy turns to Todd's cage, grinning. Todd tries his hardest to bite Keamy's hands, but it's no use—Todd is being held up by the back of his neck, unable to sink his teeth into his capture's flesh.

"Tell me what he says." Before I can react, Keamy has seized a hunting knife and plunged it into Todd's chest. "What is he saying? Translate please."

Todd howls in pain, and I stare at him in silent shock.

"What's he saying?" Keamy repeats, twisting the knife deeper into Todd's side.

"Please, Cora," Todd begs, "make it stop!"

I scream, finally finding my voice. "_Let him go!_"

In answer to my pleas, Keamy drags the knife downward, ever so slowly, until the sound of Todd's screams is the only thing left in the air.

I fight against the soldiers restraining me as Keamy tosses Todd's body away and grabs Brandon by his scruff. "_NO!"_ I roar with a hoarse throat. "Get your filthy hands off him! Leave him alone!"

"You want to start translating?" asks Keamy. "Because I'm going to run out of animals to kill, and then I'll be disappointed, and I'll have to take out my anger on you."

"Lady Cora!" Brandon cries. "I'm sorry, Lady Cora! I can't fight him!"

A small bird shoots out of a tree and flies right into Keamy's eye. "Shit! The hell?" he yells and smacks it away. Another is quick to follow. In his frustration, Keamy drops Brandon, who quickly scampers over to me. When the fourth bird flies forward, I realize what's going on, and I quickly hit the floor.

As soon as I curl up in a ball with Brandon, a massive flock of birds swarm out from within the trees. All I can hear is the frantic flapping of wings and the angry chirping of a thousand different breeds. Wings beat so loudly that I cannot even hear the yells of the soldiers. All that exists is the hum of war.

As soon as they arrive, the birds are flying off, dispersing back to their regular lives. The silence is deafening. I uncurl myself and free Brandon, who jumps on my chest and licks my face in apology. "I'm sorry I didn't listen, Lady Cora. You told me to stay at the Temple, but I just wanted to protect you."

I should be mad. I should be furious. But all I can do is hold him close and stroke his fur. Walt appears from out of the jungle, and he makes a break for me. I hold him close with my free arm and try to soothe him while he cries into my shoulder.

"We're okay. Come on, we need to move." When I stand up, I try to lead Walt away from the carnage. The birds seem to have gone for the eyes first, and a few of the soldiers are still alive, only blinded.

A sharp pain shoots through my leg, and I drop Brandon.

"Cora!" Anjali screams. I look up to find her aiming an arrow at me. She releases the arrow, and it flies right next to my face, breezing past me and sinking into something behind me. I turn to look and instantly wish I hadn't. Martin Keamy has my arrow through his eye.

"My Lady?" Anjali cries, dropping down next to me. "My Lady, you're hurt. We need to get you back to the Temple."

I pull out my walkie and press down hard on the talk button. "Ben?"

"Cora?" he answers immediately. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I lie. "Is Locke there?"

"Yes, he's here. He gave me your letter. I—"

"You need to move the island. Do it now."

"Okay. I'll need a few minutes. I've been waiting in the lab because the walkies have no reception near the wheel. Give me a few minutes."

I clench my teeth and try to think of anything rather than the searing pain in my leg. "Ben? Ben, are you still there?"

There's a pause on the line, and my forehead begins to sweat. "Yes, I'm here."

"Be safe," I order. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too."

I lie on my back in the dirt as Anjali wraps up my leg. My whole body has broken out in fever sweats, and a growing ringing has begun deep within the recesses of my brain. It's only when the world around me flashes white that I realize what's happening. Ben's done it.

I close my eyes and say my final goodbye. I close my eyes and say all the things I wish I could have said while he was still here.


	29. Let's Do The Time Warp Again

Los Angeles, 2006 (Two Years After Rescue)

_ John wheels himself into our hotel living room. I can hear the slight squeak of his chair's left wheel over the sound of my own growling. "What are you doing?" he asks._

_ I toss away the sofa cushion I was digging under. No use denying it anymore. "I've lost it."_

_ "Lost what?"_

_ "The letter, John," I snap. "I've lost the letter."_

_ "Well, it has to be around here somewhere. Where do you remember having it last?"_

_ "I don't remember. That's why I'm looking everywhere."_

_ John turns himself around in the wheelchair and heads back into his room. "You keep looking in here. I'll holler if I find it."_

_ I search everywhere, but the longer I search, the more frantic I become. It won't actually be the end of the world if I can't find it, and yet it feels like it will be._

_ "Got it," I hear from inside John's room._

_ I leap up and hurry inside, checking to make sure that none of her golden hair has fallen out of the letter. A sigh of relief escapes me when I count all fifteen._

_ "If Cora's letter is of such great importance, you mind telling me what she wrote?"_

_ "Why?" I say snidely. "Haven't you already read it?"_

_ John sits up straighter in his chair. "I have great respect for that woman. No, I didn't read it. She didn't ask me to."_

_ At first I was unsure about Locke. Speculation over his almost supernatural ability to walk after being permanently paralyzed from the waist down was enough for me to be weary of him. After all, why him? There have been injuries on the island since before my time, and I've had to watch as good people suffered for years while they healed._

_ But John has proven himself to be not only trustworthy, but surprisingly loyal. Curious, but not annoyingly so. I find him much more tolerable than I feared I would._

_ "I have not yet translated it," I answer. And that is partially true. I've only had the chance to translate the first two sentences of the Sindarin script. It reads:_

I'm not sure you can trust Sayid. Be cautious around him.

_ I tuck the letter back into the deep pocket of my coat and reach for my hat. "You still want to visit Helen?" I ask. "We'll have to leave now if you do."_

* * *

The world flashes white and then promptly falls into darkness. A cacophony of night bugs drowns out my pathetic moans of pain. Anjali, Walt, and Brandon are gone. All three have disappeared in the blink of an eye. I rest my head in the dirt and close my eyes as the tears begin to swell.

"Help! Somebody, help!"

I roll over, reaching for the knife strapped to my leg. A few feet away a cat hops around, swishing her tail and screeching like mad. "Nadia?"

"Help!" she hisses. "Please help! He's bleeding!"

I dig my fingers into the dirt and drag myself over to her. She tries to lift Todd's limp head, but it only drops back down with a thump. "Help him," she begs.

All pain in my leg is forgotten, and I sit up enough to lift his disemboweled body. His red fur reeks of blood. Deep burgundy organs slap against my chest, dangling from out of his opened torso.

Nadia paws anxiously at my elbow. "Is he alright?"

"No, Nadia." Todd's head flops against my arm as I cradle him against my chest. "He's dead."

Nadia rubs her head against my leg. "You're the human," she says. "You're the human he always talked about. Cora the human girl."

"Todd talked about me?"

"He wouldn't shut up about you."

I cough up phlegm and Nadia dances away so I can spit it out in disgust. "Will you help me bury him?" I ask her.

Digging the hole is easy. It's placing him in the hole that is near impossible for me to do. Todd looks so small in the grave. He was always small, but it had never occurred to me just how little of a creature he really was, until now.

"He loved you," I tell Nadia.

"I know." The cat leaps into my lap, her little pink nostrils flaring. "I think we might have been the only two creatures he ever loved."

I take one last look, and then I push mounds of dirt over his body.

"You're not going to leave me, are you?" Nadia mews.

I press the last of the dirt over Todd's grave and pat it tight. "Not if you don't want me to."

Ringing deep in my brain, a flash of white, and the two of us are hurled from a dark night into a blistering hot day. Todd's grave is gone.

* * *

Red, irritated skin surrounds the bullet wound in my leg. Standing is a chore, and walking is a painful and tedious process. Nadia circles around my legs like a paranoid child afraid to lose their parent in a grocery store. We must be close to the beach, because I can hear the ocean from here.

Unless that sound is a hallucination. I haven't had water in God knows how long.

"I hear someone," Nadia alerts. "They're coming this way!"

I limp behind a tree and wait for the person to reveal themself. Of all the people I expect to see, a young Danielle Rousseau is not one of them.

She is so pregnant she can barely walk. Her tangled brown hair spirals outwards like a mad scientist. In her hands she holds a rifle that she whips around at the trees. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Nadia presses herself to my leg, hunkering flat against the ground.

Danielle spins sharply to the left and fires the rifle at something. Then her gun clanks to the ground while she doubles over, screaming in agony.

I finally decide to confront her when she rolls away from the gun. Dropping down by her side, I place a hand on her stomach, even through I can already tell she's having contractions.

When she finally notices me, Danielle screams.

"Stop," I command when she tries to punch me. "Stop it, Danielle. You're going into labor. I'm trying to help you!"

"How do you know my name?" she questions.

She looks so young I hardly recognize her. "That's not important. Now, I'm going to need for you to take your pants off."

"You infected us!" she accuses. "You infected us all! It was you!"

"Do you want me to help you, or not?" I dodge a fist and start to push myself to my feet. "Alright, fine."

"No, wait," she panics, griping tightly to my wrist. Her wide eyes are glossy from fear and the pain of the contractions. "Please, help me."

For a moment I am thankful for my career indecision when I got to university. I spent two years taking nursing courses before I realized it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life. But within the span of those first two years I had learned all about birth and how to assist in labor.

Alex's labor is difficult, and it takes an hour or so before I'm holding a wailing baby in my arms. I hand her to Danielle, and it is as if I no longer exist. Both of them seem to melt into one another.

The ringing starts in my ears, and I look up at the sky, waiting for it to flash white. Before I disappear, Danielle looks up at me with tears in her eyes and says something in French.

* * *

The day is exactly the same as it was a second ago. Someone approaches from out of the trees, so I follow Nadia away from the path. A very pregnant Danielle comes hobbling into view yelling, "Who are you? What do you want?"

_Talk about deja vu._

I must have spoken aloud without realizing it, because suddenly Danielle turns and aims her gun in my direction. Before I can respond, the gun goes off, and a searing pain shoots through my shoulder.

Ringing deep in my brain, a flash of white, and I fall to the jungle floor, unconscious.

* * *

I come to as someone calls my name and gently slaps at the side of my face. "Cora?"

_I know that voice._

"Cora? Cora, can you hear me?"

_I know you._

"Cora! Wake up!"

I gather all the strength I can muster and pry my swollen eyes open. Sharp rays of light shining in through the gaps in the trees overhead only serve to increase my migraine. _How long have I been lying here? _The face hovering above me slowly comes into focus—only, he looks different. Dark stubble speckles his chin, and his shaggy black hair hangs down to his shoulders. "Richard?" I rasp. My dried up throat is on fire.

"You've been shot," I hear him announce, glancing around. "Were you followed?"

I can barely keep my eyes open. "My shoulder," I moan. "She shot my shoulder."

I'm lifted up, and my eyes flicker as Richard runs through the jungle. I hear a faint, "Get out of the way!" and "Open the door!" before someone digs into my leg wound. I scream until my throat is raw, but all this accomplishes is for someone to dig into my shoulder wound. Still screaming in agony, I'm tossed into a pool.

I have the good sense to hold my breath. Kicking like my life depends on it, I attempt to break through the surface, but before I can suck in air, somebody pushes my head further underwater. I thrash and claw in an attempt to free myself, but without air my head grows heavy with the need to sleep.

I'm pulled back above water, and I gasp for breath. Coughing and spluttering, I crawl on my hands and knees up rough stone steps until I feel safe. A hand flies to my leg, but there is no more pain. The hole Keamy's gun made in my pants is still there, but the actual wound in my leg has sealed shut. I reach up and probe where Danielle shot me in the shoulder, but that wound has also sealed shut. All this movement makes my head spin, so I lie back against the stones, fighting the black specks in my vision.

Richard kneels down in front of me and hands me a canteen. "Better?"

I gulp until my stomach feels like it will burst. It's not a question I rank high on my survival list, but it comes bursting out anyway. "What happened to your hair?"

Richard's eyebrows mush together in confusion. "My hair?"

"Its long."

"Not any longer than the last time you saw it," he answers, smiling, but his smile slowly fades. "You want to tell me who you pissed off this time? They got you twice, whoever they were."

"What day is it?" I ask groggily.

"Cora, focus. Who shot you?"

"What day is it?" I repeat.

"Tuesday," he answers.

"No, I mean . . . what year is it?"

Richard studies me with a worried frown. He reaches forward and moves a strand of wet hair off my forehead. "You're dehydrated. You should stay here and rest until the water can work into your system."

"What year is it?" I repeat.

"It's 1974."

_1974\. Holy cow, is this it? Is this is where I'm supposed to end up?_

_ But wait._

_ If this long-haired Richard already knows me, then that means I should know him. But this is the first time I've seen him looking like this, so that must mean . . . I'm out there somewhere. 70's Cora is somewhere on this island, and Richard mistook me for her._

"I have to leave," I mumble.

"I'm not letting you go back out there until you explain what happened."

"It was Danielle, okay?" I stand up and am overjoyed to find my leg pain-free. "Danielle shot me."

"Danielle who?" he asks, standing up at the same time that I do. "Who is she? Is she a member of the Initiative? This is a complete violation of the truce."

"Richard, can you please fill up this canteen? I'm still thirsty."

Richard studies me with those dark black eyes, but I don't give him the chance to ask any more questions. I need to get out of here before 70's Cora shows up and the universe explodes, or something.

The second he's out of sight, I turn and run in the direction I remember the door leading back out into the jungle was. Just as I push against the stone and stumble back out into the trees, the ringing begins, and the sky flashes white.

* * *

"Nadia?" I call. "Nadia, where are you?"

Rain whips my face with a stinging furiousness. I can barely keep my eyes open. The storm becomes so violent that I wrap my arms around a tree to keep from flying away. When the tidal wave hits me, I end up flying anyway.

* * *

"It's a woman, Captain." Someone nudges me with his boot. "She's alive."

My eyes fly open, and the instinct to protect myself kicks in when I find myself surrounded by men I've never met before. I don't even question why they're dressed like a Plymouth Rock Convention; I simply unsheathe my knife and sink it into the leg closest to me.

I break through their circle with a forceful shove and take off running. A gun goes off behind me, and I duck as the bullet sinks into a tree close to my face, splintering the wood. _Oh, God. Please not again. I just healed! Please don't let me get shot again!_

Someone fires at me from the opposite side, and I look up to find I've reached a large ship. A ship in the middle of the freaking jungle.

_The Black Rock! Is that what the storm was all about?_

_That must mean that I'm in the . . . what, the 1800's?!_

"Drop it." I turn towards the voice, knife raised, but a man dressed like a cast member of Pirates of the Caribbean has an extremely outdated gun pointed at me. "Drop your weapon, or I shoot."

I hear the men gathering behind me. "She's a native," one of them says. "What should we do?"

"Chain her up with the slaves for now and scout the area. There may be more of them nearby."

I'm led down into the bottommost section of the ship. One of the men leading me actually pokes me in the back with the barrel of his gun. The air down here is rank and spongy. I see manacles attached to the wall, and a dead man lies slumped against the side of the ship, his hands still bound in iron.

_No. I haven't come this far just to be tossed around by some ancient slave owners. Screw this_. _These guns are old, maybe old enough to only fire one shot before needing to be completely reloaded. I'll take my chances._

I spin to the side, reaching back and yanking the barrel of the riffle hard enough to free it from the man's unsuspecting hands. Swinging it hard in an arc like a battleax, I smash the butt against his head and knock him unconscious. The man standing behind him is stunned enough to have a delayed reaction, and his indecisiveness gives me the opportunity to whack him hard in the face. Both of them tumble down the stairs like rag dolls.

"Hello?" someone rasps.

_What the hell? The dead guy is alive? _I squint into the darkness and discover that there are numerous bodies down here, and one of them is moving. His long black hair is soaked and plastered to his face. It looks like he hasn't shaved in forever, and he's clothed in tattered rags. "Richard?" Stumbling down the stairs in haste, I drop down on the floor next to him and check his wounds. His lips are so dry and cracked they're bleeding a stream of blood down his chin. I wish I still had that canteen he gave me earlier so I could give it to him.

But more pressing matters are at hand. I can hear the men above the ship gathering from their scavenger hunt. There are footsteps on the stairs.

"Wait here," I tell Richard, as if he has any choice. "I'll be right back."

Richard's exhausted eyes look up to meet mine, and he begins mumbling in Spanish.

"I'll be right back," I repeat. Hurrying up the stairs, I aim the ancient weapon right as the first man bursts through the door.

I don't know how to work this gun, but it doesn't matter. My ears start ringing, and I'm gone before either one of us can pull the trigger.

* * *

I blink away the light and open my eyes. The gun I was holding has vanished into thin air, but my arms are still raised as if I were holding it. I drop them to my sides and start searching for my knife.

_No bow. No arrows. No knife._

_ Fantastic._

I start searching the surrounding jungle for any sort of weapon, and that's when I run into them.

"AGH!" I yell, clutching a hand to my heart.

Jacob smiles. "It's good to see you again, Cora."

"You!" Richard exclaims with no shortage of surprise as he pushes past Jacob. He looks exactly the same as he did chained to the side of the ship, albeit slightly less dehydrated. "You are the woman of my dreams!"

Jacob laughs, but it sounds more like a cough. "I think you mean the woman _in_ your dreams, Ricardo."

"Yes," Richard says, studying me. And then he walks right up to my face and pokes me hard on the cheek.

I slap his hand away. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Jacob steps in between us, ushering Richard away. "Forgive him, Cora, but Ricardo's just had a run-in with my brother masquerading as his late wife, so I imagine he's a little skeptical at the moment. Have you two met before?"

"Yes." I wag a thumb behind me at the Black Rock. "We first met while he was still chained up in that thing. I guess he was so dehydrated he assumed I was a dream, or an apparition, or something." _Wait . . . where am I in time? _"How long has it been since you got out of your chains, Richard?"

"Rich-ard?" he asks, glancing at Jacob.

I throw my arms up. "You know what? Nevermind. I'll probably be gone soon anyway."

"Breeches," Richard suddenly exclaims with a look of bewilderment on his bloodied face.

"What?"

His hands motion vigorously at my pants. "You're wearing breeches," he repeats.

"Oh, you mean my pants? Uh, yeah. I'm wearing pants." I make a face at Jacob. "Is he okay? I think maybe he needs to drink some more water."

"But you're a woman," Richard states.

I try to think of something to say, but I can only stare.

"Ricardo," Jacob steps in again, "I think you'll find that this world is considerably different than your own. Here women are allowed to wear whatever they want. Especially Cora. Look, you've offended her."

"Offended?" asks Richard.

"It means you shouldn't say things like that because it makes me angry," I clarify.

Richard looks genuinely remorseful, and I start to feel bad for him. It's not his fault he thinks the way he does. He was raised in a different era. A _really_ different era.

"Cora," Jacob asks, "do you know you have blood all over your shirt?"

I look down at the stained mess and almost laugh. I don't have blood on my shirt, I have shirt on my blood. The entire garment is completely covered with it. I don't bother explaining whose blood it is. "You two wouldn't happen to have found my knife, would you? I've been looking everywhere for it."

"What does it look like?" I describe it, but Jacob shakes his head. "We can help you look for it. Right, Richard?"

Richard agrees with enough enthusiasm to make me feel sorry for him all over again. It wasn't my intention to scare him, but he follows me around like finding my knife is the key to friendship.

"I really appreciate it guys—hey, wait. Where'd Jacob go?" I spin around, but the blonde menace is nowhere to be found. "Lazy ass," I mumble.

Richard follows behind me as I start searching farther away from the ship. "Is Jacob your brother?" he asks.

"Ah, no."

"Is he your husband?"

"That's a whole lot of NOPE."

"You are wearing a wedding ring," he comments.

I twist Ben's ring around my finger. "It's not his."

"Is your husband on the island?"

"No. He's . . ." I find I can barely get the stupid word out. "Gone."

Richard's face falls. "I'm sorry."

I clear my throat, trying desperately to think of something to distract the lump in my throat. "Jacob and I are not related in any way. Why did you think we were?"

"You look a little the same."

"Gee, thanks," I say sarcastically.

"You're welcome."

My sarcasm is lost on him, and I find it hilarious. I lean my back up against a tree to laugh. Wood splinters in the trunk next to me as an echoing gunshot sounds throughout the jungle. Richard and I flatten on the ground as a surviving sailor limps into view, the barrel of his gun aimed at me.

"You destroyed my crew, witch!" the man growls, and I look up just in time to watch him pull the trigger.

Nothing happens. The gun jammed.

Richard has sprung to his feet, trying his best to wrestle the gun out of the sailor's hands. "Go," he tells me. "Run!"

The sailor uses the butt of his gun to whack Richard's jaw and knock him to the ground. Richard lands in a heap beside me, blood pouring out from between his lips.

Richard pleads for me to run, but now I'm pissed. I dodge the sailor's heavy fist, dancing away from his attacks until I can get close enough to chop him hard in the throat and kick him in the stomach with all my might. After he crumbles at my feet, gasping for air, I take his gun and a knife strapped to his belt.

I kneel down at Richard's side. "Are you hurt?"

"Behind you," he warns.

I spin around just in time to embed the stolen knife deep in the sailor's chest. His body falls in the dirt, stirring one final time before stiffening with death. I don't have the strength to retrieve the knife—to clean the blood from the blade—so I turn away.

Richard just stares at me until I order him to stand up. "And that, Ricardo," I explain, poking Richard's chest with my index finger, "is why I get to wear breeches."

* * *

I wring out the cloth strip I ripped from my shirt and rinse it out in the stream one last time before using it to wipe blood from Richard's lips. "Did you really teach yourself English?"

"Yes."

I swirl the cloth in the stream again, wring it out, and gently wipe away more of Richard's blood. "All by yourself?"

Eyelashes fluttering, his dark eyes shift downward at the ground. "I had a book that helped me."

"That's amazing. In America we study a language for three years in high school, and most of the students can barely speak at a basic level."

"America? Where is that?"

I try to give an accurate geographical description, and Richard's face slowly fills with recognition.

"Oh," he says. "You mean The New World."

I can't help but laugh. "Yeah, I suppose you would call it that."

"I have always wanted to visit The New World."

"Your English is pretty spectacular for being self taught."

Richard raises his eyes to meet mine. "What means spectacular?"

"It means amazing, impressive, great."

"Oh, thank you."

I wipe the last of the blood off his face and smile. "Hey, how about I teach you a word in English and you teach me a word in Spanish?"

Sunset arrives, and I am still here. I've abandoned the search for my knife, and Richard and I sit around a fire to warm ourselves as we sink our teeth into papayas.

"Okay, how about this one. _Malodourous_."

Richard swallows a bite of papaya. "Does it mean . . . happy?"

"Nope. Not even close."

"Small?"

I laugh and lick papaya juice off my lips. "No. It means smelly. Okay, your turn."

"La estrella."

I toss the papaya peal into the fire and watch it crisp. "Does it mean . . . hm. Um, does it mean . . ." I look at the papaya in his hand. "Does it mean papaya?"

"Papaya is Spanish for Papaya," he says.

I burst into laughter and flop onto my back. "We really suck at this game." I watch the night sky light up with stars and try to find the big dipper. It was the only constellation I ever recognized when I was young. "Does it mean star?" I guess.

"Yes!" he says happily, pointing up at the sky. "Star."

"I've lost count of the score," I admit. "Let's just call it a tie, okay? I'm tired. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Ricardo."

"Goodnight, Cora."

* * *

I wake up the next morning afraid to roll over. It was nice to befriend someone after wandering around alone for so long. I don't want to move on quite yet.

I sit up, relieved to find Richard still asleep on the other side of the fire pit. We ate all of the papayas we collected for dinner yesterday, but the tree we gathered them from isn't far away. I quietly stand and head towards the tree for breakfast.

When I return, Richard is awake. "Breakfast," I tell him and toss him a fruit.

* * *

"It's around here somewhere," I say. It took half the day for me to dent my pride and admit that I didn't actually know where I was going. I hear the crash of water now, so at least I know we're close. "Ah-ha! There it is! Come on!" We jump over rocks and tree roots on our way to the waterfall. Not surprisingly, it is empty inside. "Someday this place will be full of books," I tell him. "All these cracks in the rock will be shelving for every type of book imaginable. It's going to be the best library ever. And you can use it to practice your English!"

We don't get far into the jungle before the pain in my brain starts back up again. _No! Not yet! _I hold my head and crouch down as the sky flashes white.

* * *

Rain. Of course it's raining. Why _wouldn't _it be raining?

I leap up and spin around. "Richard?" I yell, panicked. "Richard? Ricardo? Are you there? Jacob? Nadia? Hello? Somebody!"

A clap of thunder answers me, and I sink down to my knees in the mud.

I've lost everyone. Ben has left the island. Kate is dead. Robb and Theon and the rest of my wolves are dead. Todd is dead. Nadia has been missing for days. I have no idea where Anjali, Walt, and Brandon are. I have no idea where anyone is.

I am alone.

A bright flash of lightning illuminates the darkness, and I force myself to stand. I walk back to the waterfall on autopilot. _At least I will be able to sleep on a dry floor. _Cold rain continues to soak through my clothing up until the moment when I crash through the waterfall. I cross my arms over my chest, and then I remember the blood.

I am covered in the blood of Todd's organs. I am covered in the amniotic fluid of Alex's birth. I am covered in my own blood from the gunshot wound to my shoulder. I am covered in blood. So much blood. So much blood . . .

I rip my tunic off and fling it across the cave as hard as I can, screaming for all the friends I have lost—friends that didn't need to die.

I know life isn't fair. I've accepted that since I was a child, but this is cruelty beyond the capacity of my feeble being. I cannot wrap my mind around the things I've seen—things nobody should ever have to see.

And then I notice there's a person huddled in the corner. I scream, crashing back against a bookshelf. _Who the hell is it? Should I get my knife? Damn, I don't have my knife. Of course I don't have my knife._ I squint in the darkness, and his face slowly comes into focus. "Holy shit," I whisper. Two steps towards him and he shrinks away from me, looking horrified. On my third step, he rips a book from the shelf and pulls an arm back to throw it.

"Wait! Wait, please. That's a perfectly good classic you're about to throw at me."

"How are you here?" he stutters. "You're . . . you're dead."

"No, I'm not."

"Then . . . " His eyes widen at a sudden thought. "Then am _I _dead?"

"No, Ben. You're not dead."

Slowly his arm falls back to his side, the book discarded. "This is a dream, then, isn't it?"

I sigh deeply, fixating on the crevices of the cave filled with books. "What year is it?" I ask.

"1985."

Up close Ben looks young. His face has yet to etch with worry lines and wrinkles formed from a long and stressful life. When I last saw him his hair was cut short, but now it's grown long enough to cover his eyes. It's not as long as Richard's was, but it's close. Seeing him makes my hands shake. Or maybe that's just because I'm freezing.

He doesn't move away when I get close enough to sit beside him. "What are you doing here?"

Ben closes his eyes, smiling, and he rests his head back against the bookshelf.

"Why are you smiling?" I ask.

"Because I've either fallen asleep, or my sanity has decided to ditch me at last." Ben shrugs indifferently. "Either way, I don't really mind. I've always enjoyed talking to you." He opens his eyes when I touch his arm.

"You still don't believe I'm real?"

Ben takes my hand and inspects my ring. "You got married."

"I did."

"This is a really crappy dream."

I pull my hand away and smile. "Would it help if I said you were the person I married?"

"That would be nice."

"Because it happens."

"Mm."

"I know you don't believe I'm real, but I'm going to tell you some things you need to know for the future. Ben? Are you listening?"

"I'm listening."

I sit up straight and realize I'm not wearing a shirt. The blood soaked through my tunic and stained my bra, but I'm not about to take that off, so I just pull my knees up to cover myself while I try to remember important bits of information that may help him when I first come to the island twenty or so years from now. "I'm going to come back to this island, Ben. Sometime in 2004, I think. But I won't remember any of this. I won't remember you. I think it's for the best if you leave me in the dark for a while. Trying to explain everything to me from the beginning might induce a nervous breakdown. You can just . . . " I smile. "You can just say Jacob told you not to tell me anything."

"Okay," he breathes, and I worry that he isn't really paying attention.

"I need the wolves on this island to trust me. Can you do that?"

"Mm."

"Ben, this is serious. I need you to listen." I take his face in my hands and turn his head so he's looking at me. "When you see me again, I'm going to be very sad and very distrustful of you. Just . . . be patient. Watch over me. I'm going to hate you for it, but I need you to help me with a problem I have."

This seems to grab his attention. "Problem?"

"I have an issue with food. Overeating, specifically. I'll be able to fight it on my own for the most part, but I hear tea works wonders for curbing an appetite."

"You don't look any different," he comments randomly. "I thought you'd be older in my dreams."

"How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know. Twenty?"

"Close. Twenty-one."

Ben sits up, looking genuinely interested for the first time since I got here. "I turned twenty-one today."

"Really?"

"Yes," he says. "Today is December 19th."

My face starts burning with a deep embarrassment as everything starts to piece together. If he's twenty-one today, then that means . . . he was talking about _me_ during our game of I've Never. _I _was the old friend. That must be why he couldn't explain it. He was either too embarrassed, or he was afraid of scaring me off and changing the space/time continuum. But now I'm here, and he's here, too.

_Okay. Calm down. _

I feel a hand on my leg. "Cora, what's wrong?"

It's happening again. Unbridled lust floods me, pumps hard and fast through my veins like wild horses, and suddenly my hands tremble from nerves and not from the cold. The entire bottom half of my body tingles under the slight pressure of his fingers. "Have you ever seen a naked woman before?" I blurt out, genuinely curious. In all my years of life, I've never seen myself naked. Part of that stems from the religious teachings of my mother, and the other part stems from hating my body for as long as I can remember. Even after the little weight I've lost on this island, I'm still too afraid to look at myself for fear of only being able to see a sad, pathetic lump staring back at me.

"_What_?" Ben asks, laughing nervously. "I . . . no."

I don't even know where all this giddy seduction is coming from. All I know is that I am officially unafraid of letting him near me. This is my last chance to be intimate with my husband, and I'm going to take it. Eyelids fluttering lazily, I whisper, "Would you like to?"

Ben won't meet my eyes. He tries to stand, but I place a hand on his chest so he cannot walk around me. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving," he explains in a fluster. "This is a perverted dream, and I'd like to wake up now."

There is so much heat between my legs I'm getting dizzy. "So, is that a no? Because you're not even looking at me."

Briefly, he lifts his eyes to meet mine, but they swiftly fall back to the floor.

"If this is a dream, what does it matter? Although," I whisper in his ear, "I can't with a clear conscious do what I want to you without an answer first."

"What?"

I thought I was being erotic, but it turns out I'm only ruining the damn moment. "Oh, for God's sake, Ben," I protest. "Do you want to make love to me or not? I need an answer, or I'm going to go insane."

His lips remain pressed together as he gives one brusque nod in answer, looking thoroughly terrified in the process.

Just like with Gail, it becomes easier being naked the longer I am. I slip out of my undergarments, one by one, until I stand completely bare. My arms hover at my sides, wanting to cross over my chest. Before I have the chance to, Ben's fingers lace through mine and pull me towards him.

It is physically impossible for Ben to look more embarrassed than he does right now. "What do you want me to do?" he asks nervously.

In answer, I take one of his hands and run it slowly up my ribs.

There's a moment of hesitation, and then his lips are on mine. His kiss is soft at first, but once he realizes I'm not resisting, it quickly grows into something powerful and consuming. I end up on my back, arching my spine as a tingling chill runs from my head down to the tips of my toes. I've never wanted something more in my life. I'm so lightheaded I don't even bother to try and unbutton his shirt. I choose instead to rip it open, sending buttons bouncing in every direction, while he trails kisses from my cheek, across my jaw, along the column of my neck, and down my sloping chest.

Shivering at the tingle of his fingers brushing slowly up my inner thighs, I gasp, "I've never done this before."

We lock eyes, and I can see the same hesitation mirrored in my own. "Neither have I," he whispers.

He's careful, gentle, caressing me like I'm made of glass. I run my fingers up his neck and through his hair and down over his shoulders. I savor the sound of his voice in my ear, murmuring sentiments that make my blush deepen. Everywhere he places his mouth leaves a prickling sensation. I whisper what I want, what I need, and for a few moments at a time my heart breaks out in a flurry of beats. Heat radiates off my feverish skin as it grows damper with sweat by the second. My heart begins to pound furiously again, my labored breath escaping in frantic gasps, but this time it doesn't stop, and I am begging him desperately for release. I dig my fingernails into his back, trying my hardest to keep coherent, as an all encompassing trembling takes over.

I end up a sweaty, panting, smiling mess. It feels as if my body is weighed down with something, like I've been buried in the sand. I can't even lift my head.

Ben lies next to me, his arms wrapped tightly around my body, holding it against his hammering heart. I roll my head to the side to look at him, and the expression on his face says more than a million _I love you_'s ever could.

Nothing could have prepared me for what it feels like emotionally in the aftermath. All of my fears that Ben would reject me were dismissed as soon as I shed my clothing. Being stared at as if you are the most important thing in the world did more for my libido than a thousand kisses ever could.

I gaze at Ben through heavy-lidded eyes and realize we're never going to be the same. I'm never going to see him as just a best friend—or even a husband—anymore. He's become something much more important to me than that—something words could never fully explain.

I want to say something, but my family was never an "I love you_" _family. We knew everyone—aside from our father—loved each other, we just never vocalized our love. I want to tell Ben that I love him, but when I open my mouth, something different comes out.

"You're mine," I whisper as my eyes finally pull themselves shut.

Before I fall asleep, I feel him smile against my neck. "I know."


	30. Insiders and Outsiders

I awake to the loudest clash of thunder I've ever heard in my entire life. Jolting up, I reach out for Ben's embrace, but my hands grasp only air.

"No," I mutter groggily, scraping on my hands and knees to search for him. He is nowhere to be found. Even his clothes are missing. I must have time traveled while I slept. "No, NO, _NO!_" I scream, still searching for him in vain. "NO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT ISLAND! _YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!_"

I beat my fists against the bookshelves, but they are empty. I'm in a time before I had the chance to fill them with books. Seeing them empty quickly consumes me with despair. I drop to my knees and pray harder than I've ever prayed before. "Please, God, let me go back. I'll never ask for anything else for as long as I live. Please, just let me go back."

Nothing happens, and I wait for the tears to come, but they never do. They never have the chance. My tears have been replaced with the nervous response of my youth—the one I had foolishly thought I was cured of.

In place of tears is a deep and horrifying laughter.

* * *

Blood runs profusely out my nostrils and down over my lips, dripping a little copper puddle in my lap. I've time-traveled three times since I fell asleep at Ben's side. Sometimes I'll see a full shelf of books, and then the next second it is empty. Each time has grown more and more painful for my brain, and yet the pain in my chest is far worse. I know I should get up and search for Nadia and Brandon and Anjali and Walt and anyone else I can find, but I just can't make myself stand. A part of me has honestly stopped giving a shit.

_Get up. Move. Do something._

"No."

_You want to die in this cave? Because that's what's going to happen if you don't get up and feed yourself._

"Leave me the hell alone."

_You're talking to yourself, you freaking psycho._

"I know."

_You're still doing it. Stop it._

It is midmorning the next day before I finally decide to get up. The bookshelves are barren except for a small tattered Bible, but before I can pick it up and inspect it, my vision flashes white, and it is gone.

* * *

A small stream of water runs through the path I stumbled down, so I stop to take a drink. I hardly recognize myself in the refection of the water. My nose is still running red all down my chin and onto my disgustingly stained clothes. Nothing I do seems to stop the flow of blood, and it has begun to make me sick to my stomach.

"Don't move."

My cupped hand stops halfway to my mouth as I squint up at the figure standing partially concealed by the trees. I suppose I should be worried that the riffle he's pointing at me fails to illicit a fearful response.

"Don't move," the man repeats in his thick British accent.

"Widmore?" I spit out at the young man. "_Charles Widmore?_"

"Yeah?" he snaps back, scowling. "And who the hell are you?"

_Oh, God. My head. _"Take me," I rasp, trying my best to sway to my feet, "to Richard."

"Hey, hey!" Widmore yells. "I said don't move!"

But it doesn't matter. I don't even straighten my spine before I've blacked out.

* * *

I am barely conscious. I am stumbling aimlessly through the jungle. I am dehydrated. I am going to die.

_Don't think that way. Just keep walking._

I crash through the trees into a large clearing, tripping and falling to my hands and knees. There are little canvas tents in the distance, and my brain can just barely make the connection that tents equals people equals water and food.

I shuffle into camp, my feet dragging through the grass, my stomach churning with bile and blood, when I hear that insufferable voice again.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

I keep moving at my snails pace.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!"

"Piss off," I rasp.

Widmore cocks the gun. "I said—"

A voice cuts through the air with such authority that Widmore actually stops talking midsentence. "That's enough."

Richard appears abruptly from out of a tent. His dark hair is cut short and neatly combed into a hairstyle reminiscent of something off Mad Men. I can tell the moment when he recognizes me because his pace quickens. "Cora? What happened to you?"

_I'm going to vomit. _"I really don't feel very well."

Richard strides towards me, but his focus is now behind me. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Charles?"

"I found her wandering around in the jungle," he explains, his confidence wavering ever so slightly. "Says she wanted to talk to you, but I—"

Richard rips the rifle out of Widmore's hands and throws it down at his feet. "Don't ever point a gun at this woman again. You understand me?"

I turn around to mumble something that probably doesn't even make sense, and I end up vomiting all over Widmore's chest. He unleashes a string of curses, and one of the women nearby bursts into hysterical laughter.

"Shut up, Ellie!" Widmore yells.

I wish I were awake enough to enjoy the moment.

With one of my arms slung over his shoulders, Richard leads me to a tent, and after drinking my weight in water, I fall into a deep comatose sleep.

* * *

I awake pleasantly surprised not to find myself lying on the grass in the middle of a vacant field. My head still rests against a pillow, and my body is still covered with a rough wool blanket. When I sit up and stretch, all of my muscles still ache with fatigue, but at least my migraine has somewhat subsided.

"You look horrible." Richard is seated behind a small wooden desk in the corner of the tent. He finishes scrawling something down with a pen before looking up at me with a kind smile. "Come ti senti?"

"You don't want the honest answer to that," I mumble. "Wait, you speak Italian?"

"I've practiced some over the years."

I rub at my stinging eyes, thankful that the majority of blood has finally passed through my stomach. I don't feel as nauseous anymore. "I didn't know you wore glasses."

"They're new. I could never afford them before." Richard pulls off the thin spectacles and sets them down gently on the desk.

"How long was I out?" I ask.

"You slept for a day straight."

I reach up and feel my nose, but the wetness is gone. "When did my nose stop bleeding?"

Richard pushes back in his chair and walks over to where I sit. "A little while after you fell asleep. What happened? You're . . . covered in blood. Again."

This is what I was wearing the first time we met. He's only ever seen me soaked in blood. "You must think I'm an ax murderer." I look down at my clothes and cringe. "You wouldn't happen to have something I can wear, would you? I feel disgusting."

Richard leaves the tent and returns with a woman's shirt and pants. I wait patiently for him to leave, but he just stands there. "Where is it that you go?" he asks curiously. "I haven't seen you in years."

"I've been . . . out. You know." I wave my hand around, but I'm not entirely sure what the right answer to this question is. "Traveling," I finally say. "I've been traveling a lot."

"Where to?" he asks.

"California, mostly."

"What's in California?" he asks.

"Obviously you've never been," I say playfully, "or else you wouldn't be asking that."

Richard sighs and walks back to his desk to retrieve his glasses. "I suppose you'll want an update on what's happened since you've been gone."

"Sure thing," I say. "But first, can you do me a favor?"

"Yes?"

I wag a thumb at the tent's opening. "Can you get out of here so I can change? The smell of myself is going to make me sick."

Richard shakes his head, chuckling. "I'll have someone bring in a bucket of water and some soap. The smell of you is going to make _me _sick."

He leaves before I can think of something witty to say.

* * *

"You won't believe what's happened." Richard takes my hand and tugs me across camp.

"What?"

"Look." He points at a line of crates filled with the most extraordinary animals. Written in bright red paint on the sides of the crates is the message _Ringling Bros. Circus—The Greatest Show on Earth!_

"We found them washed up on the beach about a month ago. Half of them were still boxed up in their circus crates. One of the lions drowned, unfortunately, but the rest seem to be doing fine. We feed them as best we can, but we don't know what to do. It's perfect timing you've returned."

"What are a bunch of circus animals doing here?"

"Must have been on a shipment to America."

"Poor things." I begin walking down the side of a hill to talk to them, and a zebra is first to spot me.

"Please!" he cries, kicking the sides of his crate. "Let me out! I can't stay in here any longer!"

"Cora," Richard warns, pulling me back. "Watch out. This one's been loose for awhile."

Heavy hoofs clip-clop in front of me, and I stare up into the curious gaze of an enormous elk. His brown coat is as thick as wolf fur, his eyes as round and black and innocent as Brandon's, and he has antlers with a sideways span that stretches taller than I am.

The elk snorts loudly. "Do not hurt my friends."

"I'm not going to hurt your friends," I say. "I'm going to help them. Do you want them out of those crates?"

"Don't trust the human!" a cheetah growls.

"Let me out!" the zebra cries.

"I'm going to let that one out, okay?" I ask, pointing to the frantic zebra.

"I'm watching," the elk says. "Don't try anything."

The closer to the crates I get, the more animals I can see. There are crates with cheetahs, rhinos, zebras, a female elk, and more all packed up in boxes too small for them. I even see a poor baby elephant trunk peeking out from in-between two wooden panels. With help from Richard and a few of the Others we manage to free the animals, and I strike a bargain with them. They may stay with us, receive frequent meals, and reap the benefits of our security, but they must never, ever bite or intentionally injure us.

"It's a deal," an Ostrich squawks. "I'm starving, so get into formation!" One by one the animals each begin preforming some kind of trick.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"You don't want us to preform?" asks an Ostrich. "Is that how we eat? I'm hungry. You want to see a trick?"

"No, of course not," I say. "You eat when it's mealtime. You don't have to preform anything." Without warning, the Ostrich kneels down and starts flapping its wings, the baby elephant grabs onto one of the belt loops in my jeans, and the elk licks my face. "It's nice to meet you, too," I say, wiping away chewed grass from my cheek.

* * *

"Has a bald guy come to see you yet?" I pick up one of the rolls off the platter in front of me, but the baby elephant sitting beside me reaches out with its trunk and pulls it away, quickly shoveling it in his own mouth. "Hey," I laugh. "Would you please stop doing that? I'm hungry, too." I am overwhelmingly hungry. What little food was still in my system was vomited up with all the blood I swallowed. I pick up another roll and scarf it down before the elephant can take it away. "He goes by the name John Locke?"

Richard takes a sip of wine and nudges the bread platter closer to me with his knee. "No. I've yet to meet this person. Why?"

I rip into another roll and barely have time to chew before I take another bite. "Let him talk when he gets here. He'll have some important people with him. The bomb, Jughead?" Richard stiffens, all ears. I shove another roll in my mouth, dodging the little curved trunk smacking at my hands. "There's a scientist coming to the island who knows what to do with it. His name is Daniel Faraday. Kind of a lanky build, hangs out with a redhead, makes a lot of jerky motions with his head, looks perpetually confused. You'll know him when you see him."

Richard eyes me with a suspicious smile. "You act as if you won't be here when they arrive."

"I might not be." I shrug, ripping off another chunk of bread. "It's not up to me."

Richard takes another sip of wine and offers me the container.

"No, thank you," I say. "I don't drink."

Richard corks the bottle and sets it aside. "If you don't mind my asking, what is your job here?"

"My job?" I mumble with a mouthful of food.

"Jacob assigned you a job, didn't he? When you first arrived here?"

_Do I have a job? What's Richard's job? Jacob's personal ambassador? _I decide to quote something Alex told me once, a long time ago. "I'm Jacob's official animal ambassador."

"And what exactly does that entail?"

"Lots of sleepless nights and constant glances over my shoulder. Want to trade? _And would you stop it?_" I chastise the baby elephant, who is struggling to pry open my fingers. "There is a platter of rolls right in front of you! Stop stealing mine!"

Richard laughs just as a young blonde woman rushes into the tent. "Richard? They're here."

The humor is sucked right out of the air, and Richard leaps up and follows her out. "Cora, I'll be right back."

"Don't mind me," I say, taking another bite of bread. "I'll just be—" Bright white light blinds me, and I have just enough time to scramble forward and stuff six rolls down my shirt before the tent around me vanishes.

A cool morning breeze drifts pleasantly over the field I'm kneeling in. All of the Others' tents are gone, as well as the baby elephant whose name I never asked. Once again, I am alone.

* * *

Halfway to the beach I start second guessing my sense of direction. I spin around and try to piece together familiar sights, but everything looks the same now that I'm panicking.

_Calm down. You're never going to remember how to get back to the beach if you can't even calm down enough to think straight._

"Cora?"

I turn and find Richard hurrying down the path. He is dressed in a pair of dark pants—held up with brown suspenders—and a white cotton shirt similar to the ones Jacob is so fond of. His black hair is long and stringy, and his face is still covered in a thick black beard. His smile widens when he gets close enough to confirm my identity.

Before I can ask for directions to the beach, Richard yanks me into a tight hug, lifting me a little off the ground. "Okay," I gasp, "Yeah. Hi. Ow."

"You leave!" he accuses, setting me back down. "You have been gone for a long time."

"Sorry about that. I had to . . . go somewhere. Listen, Richard, it's great to see you again, but I really need to go to the beach. Can you point me in the right direction?"

"Yes, yes, of course. This way." I follow behind him, glancing up at the sky every once in a while to make sure I'm not about to time travel again. "It is quiet when you leave," says Richard. "There is no one to talk to."

"Why don't you talk to Jacob?"

"Jacob is a very busy person."

"Oh." I study the sounds of the jungle and try to envision what it would be like to have to live here alone for so long. Danielle couldn't handle it. Claire couldn't handle it. People need social interaction to survive. Knowing that I can't stay here with Richard for very much longer makes me sad. "Hey, don't worry. There will be new arrivals coming here soon, so you'll have plenty of people to talk to."

"There are people coming to the island?" he asks hopefully. "You saw them?"

I start to say "yes" and "sure" at the same time and end up saying something that makes no sense. Before I can stop myself, I start chastising myself in Italian.

The language feels strange on my tongue. Not wrong, exactly—just strange. I was never a master of speaking the language, but I could understand anything my mother said. My father discouraged speaking Italian in his presence, so I was only able to attempt to learn it in private. Everything I remember starts pouring forth like a river of words—a stream of consciousness. The more I say the more I _want _to say just because I finally have the freedom to say it.

"What are you speaking?"

I snap out of my rant, confused. "Don't you speak Italian?"

"No," he answers, sounding disappointed.

_The last time I saw him he had asked me how I was doing in Italian, so how does he not speak it? _

"Oh!" he exclaims suddenly. "I have a gift for you." Richard pulls a small tattered Bible out of his pocket. "The first book for your library."

I gently flip through the pages, marveling at how well it was preserved. "Thank you, Richard. This is . . . this is great. Where did you get it?"

"It was my Bible from home."

"Really?" It instantly feels delicate in my hands. "I . . . I think maybe you should hold onto it. I'm afraid of what might happen to it in my care."

"No, no," Richard insists, cupping my fingers close around the crinkling pages. "For your library."

The gesture makes my throat swell. _Maybe a Bible is exactly what I've needed. _We continue our journey to the beach as I flip through the pages in search of scripture to help soothe me. Laughter bubbles out of me as my eyes scan the words. "This is in Spanish."

"Yes?"

"I can't understand half of this."

Richard stops short and scratches the back of his head. "You can use it to practice Spanish, yes?"

"Yeah, okay. But you're going to have to help translate it for me."

"I can do that. How about when we reach the beach?"

I don't get the opportunity to answer.

* * *

"Are you done?" I scream up at the sky. "_You done?"_ I rear back and kick the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Done with what?"

I look up at a bright green bird perched on a nearby branch. "Nothing," I grumble.

"Mom?" a voice screams in the distance. "Mom?"

I follow the sounds of distress, expecting another Pumba incident, but the voice does not belong to an animal. A young boy is backpacking through the jungle, looking for something. I don't know what the hell is going on, so I step into the light to find out. If all else, maybe he knows the way back to the beach.

All the air in my lungs gets sucked right out of me.

Ben—no more than eight or nine—stands stock still, eying me with fear through his round glasses. He stumbles backwards, hurrying away in the other direction.

"Wait," I call out. "Wait, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

He continues to watch me intently. "Are you a Hostile?" he asks fearfully.

"Do I look aggressive to you?" I gance behind him to see if he's being followed. "Are you alone?"

"Yes," he answers sheepishly.

"What are you doing out here without a grown up?"

Ben's lips press together, and he looks down at the ground, ashamed. "You wouldn't believe me."

_Oh, right. Dead mother. _"Listen, sweetheart, you need to go home, okay? It's not safe for you to be roaming around alone out here."

"No, please, I don't want to go back there. I hate it there!" His face instantly brightens with hope. "Can you take me with you? Back to your people?"

_Even if I wanted to, where would I take him? I don't know where the Others camp is. _"I wish that I could, but I can't right now."

"Why not?"

"I . . ." Ben stares at me while I try to think up an excuse. "I don't have the means to. We're not allowed to accept just any old person into our community. I'd have to get permission first. Look at it this way," I explain. "If I were to take you back to camp with me right now, your parents would wonder where you were and—"

"My dad wouldn't care," he blurts out desperately. "He'd be glad I'm gone."

What saddens me most is not the look on his face but the fact that he's probably not wrong. "Your father's not very nice to you, is he?" Ben gives a small shake of his head, and I swell with the urge to protect him. "I can't bring you to my people today, but I will another day. Soon. I promise." A sudden thought strikes me. "Do you know who I am?"

Ben pushes his round glasses farther up his nose, eyeing me warily. "A . . . Hostile?"

_I hate you, island. You stupid sadomasochistic lump of volcanic aftermath. If I had the means to destroy you, I would nuke this sorry chunk of land into oblivion. _I put on my most convincing smile. "My name is Cora."

The young boy tugs at his shirt. "I'm Ben."

"It's very nice to meet you, Ben. Now, can you do me a favor and get yourself safely home? It's dangerous out here, and I don't want something to happen to you."

Ben finally looks up at me, and his eyes are glossy with tears. "But I don't want to go back—"

"I know, honey." I kneel on one knee, down to his level. "Trust me, I know. But I'll come and get you as soon as I can. I promise." Nodding towards the direction he came from, I say, "Now go."

* * *

It is midday by the time I reach the beach. I followed the path Richard had been leading me down, and I eventually came across a cluster of makeshift tents erected in the sand.

Jane stands near the shoreline, tugging absentmindedly on a necklace. Farther down the beach I see Danielle and Alex have finally met each other, and the two of them sit close together in the sand, talking. Darcy, the little deaf boy, leads Aiko, the little blind girl, around so she doesn't trip over things in the sand. Charlie and Richard are arguing about something. I don't see Sawyer, Juliet, Miles, Faraday, Charlotte, or Locke anywhere.

I step out from the trees and Jane is the first to see me. She takes two hurried steps in my direction, and then they are all gone.

* * *

I sit cross-legged on the shoreline, watching transfixed as the waves crash against the sand and flow back into the ocean. I feel emptied. A part of me wishes I had the strength to charge into the ocean and figure out if this place runs on video game logic. _If I die in this world, will I be restarted in my old one? Wake up on my dorm bed as if nothing had happened?_

The voice of a young boy asks, "Who are you?"

I don't immediately turn around. Disinterest and the realization that I'll probably be traveling through time again soon anyway sway me not to turn my head.

The voice, however, is persistent. It is closer the next time it asks, "Are you from across the sea?"

The oddness of the question makes me turn, ever so slightly, to look at my visitor. I almost laugh at who I find. "Jacob?"

The young blonde boy takes a hesitant step backwards. "How do you know my name?"

A small, amused smile tugs at my lips, despite the growing emotional numbness seeping into my mind. "You don't have to run. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Are you from across the sea?" he repeats.

I turn back to the ocean. "Yes."

"But you can't be," he refutes. "Mother says there isn't anything out there."

I hum in response.

"What's your name?" Jacob asks.

"Cora."

"And you really are from out there?" I look over to find him waving a hand at the endless blue waves.

"Unfortunately."

"Why unfortunately?"

"Because now I'll never see my family again," I deadpan. "I'm stuck here forever."

Jacob takes a seat next to me in the sand. I guess I don't seem like much of a threat. "Is your family still out there?"

"My family isn't anywhere."

"Are they dead?" he guesses.

"No."

"Then how can they be nowhere?"

I turn to face him. "Because I don't belong here. I'm . . . it's complicated."

We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the rush of the tides coming in. "You should meet Mother," Jacob suddenly suggests.

Another meaningless smile dances on my lips. "No offence, but I don't feel like doing anything right now."

Jacob hops up. "Then I'll bring her to you."

"Sure."

He takes off running, kicking up sand all over my lap. I sigh.

* * *

This time when the sky lights up white, I have the curious feeling that it is over for good. I can feel it in my brain—a sense of peace. My nose has not bled for a few days, and that has to be a good sign, right?

I've already eaten all of the rolls I shoved down my shirt, and now my stomach growls angrily.

"WHYYYYY?"

I look back at the jungle, curious as to how I can hear a voice so clearly over the sound of waves.

"WHYYYYYYYYYYY!" the wailing continues, even louder than before.

Picking up Richard's Bible, I head in the direction of the intense wailing. It doesn't take long to find the source. "Oh, glorious friend of the Frog Queen," Frogger shouts when he sees me. "The most terrible atrocity has occurred! I have lost my Queen! I HAVE LOST HER!"

"What Queen? What are you talking about?"

"The human with skin to surpass my own! She was being escorted out of the Temple, and, and . . . I've lost her! Separated forever! Gone! _Gone!_"

_When did I last see Frogger? We were leaving for the Temple, and he became obsessed with a young girl. What was her name again? _"Wait, are you talking about Emma?"

"Emma!" Frogger cries. "No one shall ever compare to her fair skin. Smooth as silk! The smoothest in all the land! Why, me? Why has this travesty befallen me?"

"What happened to her?" I prod. "Is she okay? Why was she being escorted out of the Temple?"

"No, no," he moans. "I don't want to think about it."

"Frogger," I say, holding him firmly in my hand. "What happened to Emma?"

"She left with a group of Others who went to the beach. They were waiting for your return."

"So, she's okay? She's alive?"

"Yes. Have you seen her?" he croaks hopefully. "Is she still at the beach?"

"No, I admit. "I'm sorry. I don't know where she is."

"Don't move," a deep voice commands. I turn around, and the man quickly lowers his rife. "You again," Widmore sighs. He looks older than the last time he was pointing a rifle at me, so maybe I really am in the time I'm supposed to be. I sure hope so. I'm so sick of nosebleeds.

A strange, disturbing thought runs through my mind. _If I kill him right now, would that stop the mercenaries from coming in the future?_ _Stop Todd and Kate from dying? Stop Ben from leaving?_

I shake this disturbing thought away. _What am I doing? I don't know him. I can't just kill someone without provocation._

_ Can I?_

"Well, are you coming or not?" he snaps.

"What?"

"We've moved camp since you were last here. Are you going to follow me back or keep conversing with that slimy thing in your hand?"

"Oh," I say, snapping out of my thoughts. "Yes. Lead the way. And this slimy thing in my hand has a name, you know."

"Fascinating," Widmore replies sarcastically. He slings the rifle over his shoulder and turns to walk into the jungle without looking back to make sure I follow.

* * *

I get lifted off the ground again when I first see Richard. This time I expect it, and I laugh as he spins me around twice before setting me down.

"I've brought a friend." I point at Frogger, who has suction-cupped himself to my cheek.

Richard raises his eyebrows in alarm. "Is he poisonous?"

"He better not be! He's been hitching a ride of my face for hours!" I reach up and pluck Frogger from my skin. "Off you go, buddy. I'm not taking chances. You can ride on my clothes from now on." I allow him to jump onto my shoulder.

"When is your next assignment?" asks Richard.

"Huh?"

"When will you have to leave?" he asks. "To go traveling?"

"Oh," I cough a laugh. "Actually, I don't plan on leaving. I'm needed here for . . . a while."

"Really? I'm very glad to hear it." Richard smiles warmly, leading me into camp. "Welcome home."

Several of the circus animals must have bred because young animals run across camp even though none of the animals we rescued from the circus crates were babies, aside from the elephant. The people at camp acknowledge me with a smile, but nothing more, and it throws me off until I realize why. I have not achieved anything great yet. This is the time in which I establish myself as a great and powerful leader. These people don't know about me because the legends have not yet been made. I'm at square one.

I smile back at them, wondering about what will inevitably transpire.

I have a lot of work to do.


	31. Where In The World Is Carmen SanDiego?

Florence, Italy, 2007 (Three Years After Rescue)

_So close. We're so close. Everything is going according to plan._

_ The cell in my pocket vibrates. "Yes?"_

_ "It's done," comes the cold voice across the line._

_ "Good. Meet me in Florence for another name." _

_ "Italy?" Sayid questions._

_"The very same." I flip the cell close and set it down on the counter. Sayid has proven well beyond his worth. Sixty names I've provided for assassination, and he has not given me a single question about any one of them. Oh course, I can't exactly blame him. I cannot fathom what I would do if someone murdered my wife. Revenge is a powerful thing. It can drive a person to madness if not contained properly. I can only hope to contain Sayid long enough to finish off the remaining twelve members of Widmore's personal contacts. With every person we kill, the rest get harder to find._

_ "Was that Sayid?" asks John._

_ "It was," I answer, offering nothing more._

_ "Well," John prods, pouring himself some orange juice. "What did he want?"_

_ "John, I think it's best if you leave Sayid to me. Let's focus our attentions on Sun, shall we?"_

_ "You haven't been getting sleep."_

_ The random observation throws me off guard. "Pardon?"_

_ "You're eyes are puffy," says John. "And don't think I can't hear you wandering around the kitchen in the middle of the night. You're not sleeping."_

_ "You make insomnia sound like a dirty word," I sneer, and then I catch myself. I'm grouchier than usual. Maybe he's right._

_ "I'm only saying you should think about doing something about it. Help clear your head. You could start taking some sleep medicine."_

_ I rub at my temples. "Thank you for your concern, but medication is not needed."_

_ "Ben, you need sleep to function."_

_ "Your enlightening insights never cease to amaze me." I don't want to talk about the dreams that keep me up at night. The memory of shooting that man in the head. Abaddon. "Enjoy your juice. I have an important contact waiting to meet me. I don't know when I'll be back. Don't wait up. And I've already started a tab with the bellhop. Feel free to order room service whenever you need it."_

_ I don't really have a meeting to attend. I just can't stand the interrogations anymore._

_ Upon stepping out into the warm summer sun, I breathe in the rich Italian air and wonder if Cora ever had the chance to visit the place of her ancestors. Florence is a beautiful part of the country. I'm sure she would love it. I smile at the thought and head down the cobblestone path._

_ Maybe one day I'll have the chance to bring her here._

_ I often think about what she's doing. How she's feeling. Does she miss me? Does she think of me as much as I think of her? Does she still wear my wedding ring?_

_ Is she carrying my child inside her?_

* * *

"And the Lord said to Abraham, 'Go and spread—'"

"That word does not mean spread," Richard corrects.

I want to try, but apathy strangles me, and I fill with the sudden need to sleep. "I'm done for the day. We've been at this for hours. My brain is starting to throb." I gently close Richard's Bible and set it on the shelf of my library, right next to my copy of _A_ _Tale of Two Cities_. Ever since Richard discovered my favorite type of literature is early British fiction, he's been bringing me all sorts of British novels back from the mainland.

I've been in the 70's for two weeks, and the numbness has yet to subside. Nothing seems worth doing anymore. It didn't even occur to me that I was feeling this way until Charlie started asking questions.

"You want to tell me what's wrong?" Richard steps in my path, effectively blocking me from leaving the library.

I roll my eyes. "I'm fine."

Despite blocking my way, his actions are not threatening in the slightest. If I weren't feeling so void, I'd be touched by his blatant concern for my wellbeing. "You haven't been yourself lately," he states. "Charlie has addressed some concerns, and frankly, so have I. What is it that's bothering you?"

_Don't do this, Cora. You know what depression feels like, so don't let it ruin your life again. You know what the warning signs are. Seek help. _I exhale deeply and decide to listen to the nagging voice. "Richard," I say flatly, "I think I'm in shock."

"Shock?"

During the day I feel nothing. When I try to sleep, however, I awake in a cold sweat, momentarily confused as to where I am. The dreams are always the same.

Eddard. Catlyn. Ana Lucia. Todd. Kate.

Kate died instead of me. The bullet that pierced her skull was meant for me, but she was in the way. Todd is dead because I let him leave the Temple. Catlyn is dead because I wanted to split up to look for Darcy. Eddard is dead because I believed the survivors were harmless. It was all my fault. All of it.

I'm forced to relive their deaths over and over in my dreams. Even after I've broken through the sleep barrier, I'm still not truly free. The memory of them lingers with me, always. I've recently discovered that I cannot fall asleep and stay asleep without somebody beside me. Charlie offered at first, but that proved problematic. He mumbles song lyrics while dreaming and wakes me up before the nightmares even have a chance to arrive. Richard—the only person I could find that doesn't talk, kick, or wake up randomly in the middle of the night—has since taken his place.

I have not yet dreamt of Ben.

"I've lost so many of my friends, Richard. Lately I can't get rid of this sinking feeling that I'll—" I stare down at the floor of the cave, shaking my head at the difficulty I'm having in putting my feelings into words. "—I'll never be happy again."

One of Richard's hands rests lightly on the side of my arm. "How can I help?"

"Honestly, I don't know." I raise my head up enough for me to see his face. "I appreciate you spending time with me, though. I don't think it's a good idea for me to be alone right now."

"Neither do I," he agrees. "And if there is anything I can get you, anything at all, just ask. Too much stress is not a good thing this early in your trimester. We don't want anything happening to your baby."

I bring a hand up to rest on my stomach. Richard was the first person I confided in about my pregnancy. He asked questions about my husband—seemingly happy that I had found him—but I started crying before I could answer, and he hasn't asked any questions since.

Richard drapes an arm across my shoulders and holds me to his side as we leave the library. "How would you like to get away for a little while?"

"Get away?"

"How long has it been since you traveled for fun? Traveled somewhere that wasn't an assignment?"

I still haven't told him about the whole time traveling thing. There was never a good moment to explain it. I figured there's no harm in letting him think I've spent the past hundred years or so traveling the world to do Jacob's dirty work. Usually I'd have a convincing white lie at my disposal, but the apathy makes it impossible to think. "Uh . . . never, actually," I say, allowing him to help me down the side of the rocky path. "Why?"

"Well, I was going to save this for a special occasion, but I think, in light of your current state, I should give it to you now."

Richard pulls his arm off my shoulders and reaches into his pocket. In my outstretched hand he drops a small blue flipbook. "What's this?" I flip it open and stare at a picture of myself. Identification information is written all down the side in Italian. I squint up at Richard, confused. "I don't get it."

"It's your passport. Everything's been arranged. We can leave first thing in the morning if you pack a bag tonight."

What he's saying is simple enough, but it's not adding up in my head. "I don't understand."

Richard gives an amused yet exasperated sigh. "I'm asking if you would like to visit Italy."

* * *

Back at camp, Brandon runs circles around my legs. "Lady Cora! Lady Cora, watch me!" He rears back and springs towards Eloise Hawking, who swats at him playfully and throws him a piece of fish.

"Ah, there you are." Charlie saunters over to give me a hug. "You two better be careful," he says, lowering his voice. "Word around camp is that you two are doing a little bit more than reading, if you know what I mean."

I force a smile. "Don't make me punch you in the face."

"Whoa," Charlie laughs. "That's the most emotion you've shown all week. I must be doing something right."

Charlie and Brandon are stuck at the Others camp with me. The two of them wandered in from the beach and both decided to stay when they discovered I was here. Charlie stayed behind because the helicopter was full to capacity, and he wanted to ensure Claire and Aaron had a seat. His guitar time traveled with him, and he's taken over as our official nighttime entertainment.

"What's on the itinerary for tonight?" I ask him.

"Not sure. I was thinking maybe The Beatles? You guys like The Beatles, right?"

"What is he talking about?" Richard asks me.

"Music," I clarify. "You've never heard of The Beatles? Hey Jude? Here Comes the Sun? _Yellow Submarine_? Come on, Richard. Everyone knows Yellow Submarine."

* * *

"You're going to Italy?" Charlie hands me a bowl of mangos and takes another helping of pasta. "I hate to break it to you, love, but we're stranded on an island, in case you've forgotten."

"Huh?" I ask, looking up from my passport. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"Look what you've done, Richard. You've taken my best friend away from me." Charlie throws a piece of pasta at Richard, who dodges it with ease.

Brandon paws at my arm. "Can I go, Lady Cora?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. You'll have to stay here with Charlie."

"Yeah, buddy," Charlie says enthusiastically. "You get to stay here with—hey, wait. _I don't get to go_?"

"Hold on," I say slowly, squinting at the words on the passport. "Why is my last name listed as _Alpert?_"

"Our sleeping arrangements were made at a Monastery in Florence. The monks only allow married couples to sleep in the same room." Richard swallows a spoonful of pasta and shrugs. "What they don't know won't hurt them."

"You lied to a monk," I whisper in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Technically, Jacob did. He's the one who arranged everything. As much as I wish I could take credit, this was all his idea."

"Jacob?" I think back to the last time I saw him. He had been only a small child. _He's letting me go home to look for my family. _I smile. "This is wonderful and all, Richard, but how do you plan on getting us there?"

* * *

"You're kidding, right?"

"It is the most effective means of travel," says Jacob.

"Is it safe?"

Richard nods. "I use it all the time. I assure you it is perfectly safe."

"This is insane." I stare up at the large hollow tree stump I so lovingly named _The Magic Tree _upon my arrival here. "How does it work?"

"Just walk on through," Jacob instructs. "I'll do the rest."

I adjust the straps of my backpack, hiking it higher on my shoulders, and step into the wood fully expecting to smack into hard tree bark.

* * *

Florence, Italy, 1974

"Welcome to Florence." Richard waves a hand at the city. "The heart of the Renaissance."

I spin around, marveling at the heaping mounds of sundried brick buildings and worn cobblestone pathways. "This is where my parents met. At the University of Florence."

"Would you like to go there first?"

"No," I snap. "No," I repeat calmer than before. _I don't want to visit the place my parents met. I never want to think about them meeting, falling in love, falling out of love. No. _

Richard offers me his arm, and I link my own through his. "What would you like to do first?" he asks.

There is only one answer. "Eat."

* * *

We stand in line almost all day to get into The Baptistery. Crowds of cheering Italian citizens march through the streets shouting loudly and laughing happily. I turn to the man behind me and ask, "Do you know what's going on?"

The man is dressed in fringe and wears a big pin on his vest that says _Make Love, Not War. _"Not a clue, bunny." He shrugs. "I'm not from here."

Only ten minutes after standing in line, Richard buys a parasol from a street vendor to shade me from the sun. I realize the second I walk through the doors that it was worth the wait.

Tiles of every color and pattern spiral and zigzag throughout the flooring. Large panels depicting biblical stories hang from the doorways leading in and out of the sanctuary. I can feel the spirituality emanating from the ancient building, and it overwhelms me. A small white handkerchief appears under my chin. I accept it from Richard, laughing, and wipe at my watery eyes.

* * *

"Alpert," Richard tells the monk who greets us at the gate.

"Passports, please," the cheerful monk replies. After searching a list for our names, he gives us back our passports with a smile. "Right this way."

"Do you know what all the marches going on today were for?" I ask the monk.

"It is a sad day," he replies wearily. "The voters have chosen to enforce the divorce referendum. Italy will uphold the right to provide divorces. It was just announced this morning."

_I wonder if my mom and her family marched against the cause._

Our room is modest but impeccably clean. I almost don't want to walk on the floor for fear of scuffing the hard work of the monks.

"You can have the bathroom first," Richard offers.

I draw a bath, thankful for running water. It's been almost a month since I took a bath with modern plumbing. And soap. God bless soap.

I curl up in bed while Richard washes up for the night. Being here feels like being home, which is ridiculous in a sense because I never visited Italy in my youth. I rub my face into the pillow, trying to get comfortable. All of the linins smell faintly of soap and lemongrass. It isn't long before I've drifted off to sleep.

* * *

We visit Accademia Gallery at the end of the week. The lines to get in and see such masterpieces as Michelangelo's _David_ and Giambologna's _Rape of the Sabines _stretch out the door and wrap around the massive building. I pop open my parasol and join the crowd of eager tourists.

After spending the day marveling at the exhibition, we stop to eat at a restaurant. I order goat cheese and herb stuffed radicchio leaves, but Richard prompts me to order more.

"You're eating for two," he says.

I look at the prices, but they all seem relatively low. Then I remember prices were lower in the 70's, and I don't know what the price difference between Italian currency and US dollars is anyway.

"Order whatever you want," Richard says, flipping through his own menu. "Trust me, we won't run out of money."

I only feel slightly bad when I take him up on his offer.

* * *

At the end of the month we say goodbye to the monastery and goodbye to Florence as we catch a train to Venice.

We spend the next week taking a tour of the city and riding boats on the Grand Canal.

"You're smiling," Richard comments with a smile of his own. "Are you feeling better?"

"I feel fantastic!" I shout, leaning back in the boat and allowing the sea breeze to blow through my hair.

As the day winds down, however, I begin to feel less than fantastic. A sharp pain shoots through my stomach so hard I double over.

Something is wrong. I can hear it in the pitch of Richard's worried voice. I catch the beginnings of blood seeping through my pants. It runs warm and wet down my legs.

I scream.

* * *

I can see the ghostly white of my face in the reflection of the steel sink across the room.

"I don't understand," I whisper.

"It is a fairly common occurrence, Mrs. Alpert," the doctor explains. "You say you've been under incredible amounts of stress lately, yes? Late or missed menstrual cycles due to extreme stress is a natural response called secondary amenorrhea."

"So," my head is spinning, spinning, spinning, "you're saying I was never pregnant?"

"Correct." The doctor finishes writing something down on his clipboard. "Blood tests show that you lack the hormones indicating pregnancy, especially if you claim to be almost two months pregnant. It would seem now that you two are on vacation, your stress has dropped to a healthy level that signaled your body to resume its regular cycles."

I squeeze Richard's hand for dear life, but he doesn't complain. I'm barely clinging to consciousness at this point. I can't think of anything to say.

"Well," the doctor concludes, "I wish you two the best of luck. And if you decide to try again while you're still on vacation, our clinic offers free pregnancy tests Monday through Friday."

I finally let go and slump against Richard for support.

* * *

I cry into the early hours of the morning. Ben's wedding ring lies tucked in my pocket, away from my sight. Looking at it is too painful.

_I'll never know what our child will look like. I'll never have a child. I'm going to die alone._

Richard does not try to talk me out of my grief, but he doesn't leave my side either. Knowing he's there is enough.

* * *

I requested a cathedral for our last stop before returning to the island. I need all the spiritual help I can get. The cathedral we chose is full of nuns. I take a seat near the front and bow my head to pray. "I'd like to be alone for a moment, Richard."

I feel a hesitant hand on my shoulder, and my throat swells up with tears. "Cora, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I want to pray alone for just a little while."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine." I give his hand an encouraging squeeze. "I'll meet you at the café across the street in a few minutes."

The nuns in the seats in front of me bow to one another as they pick up babies and bring them to the alter.

"Excuse me," I ask one of them in Italian. "What are you doing?"

"We are baptizing the orphans, child."

"Orphans?" My heart sinks. "All of these children are orphans?"

"These are only the sweet babes, my child. There are even more children back at the orphanage. The older children have already been baptized." She inclines her head and proceeds to bring another baby to the pool of holy water. "God bless you."

"God bless you," I repeat.

Babies tucked into little baskets are lined up on the bench in front of me. One by one the nuns pick up the babes and bring them to the alter to be baptized. I lean forward and lock eyes with a little boy wrapped up tightly in white cloth. His fussing subsides when he sees me, and he smiles. A little hand reaches out for me, and I offer my hand in return. The baby wraps all his fingers around one of my own, and I am ensnared.

* * *

"Cora . . . what is that?"

I hold the gurgling child closer to my chest. "A baby."

Richard takes a few cautious steps towards me, his eyes wide. "Yes, I can see that. But where did it come from, and why do you have it?"

"He was just laying there, with the orphans . . . and I . . . I just sort of . . . took him." I begin to panic. "Oh my God, I stole a baby. Richard, I stole a baby from a nunnery. Holy shit, Richard, what do I do? _Tell me what to do!_"

"Calm down," he orders, dropping his voice low and ushering me out of traffic.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Back to the cathedral."

I try to pull away. "No, please no."

"Cora—"

I desperately cling to the infant. "Why should I return him? Return him to what? Life as an orphan, waiting for adoptive parents? I can give him something better. I can be his mother."

"This is not how adoption works—"

"Please," I beg. "Please, Richard."

"Cora, have you lost your mind?"

I can feel my face scrunching up with the threat of tears. _He's mine. He's mine, and I want him. I can give him a better life. I can. I need him. _People around us are starting to stare. "Please don't take him away from me."

Richard notices the curious gawking of the pedestrians, and he closes his eyes, calmly thinking this all through. When he opens his eyes again, they are kinder. "Hurry," he whispers. "We need to leave before they figure out what you've done and call the police."

And just like that, I have a baby. I guess Jacob wasn't wrong after all.


	32. Welcome To The DHARMA Initiative

I am a woman obsessed.

I'm pretty sure this is what it feels like to be high. I'm so happy I honestly cannot think back on my life and compare this feeling to anything I've ever experienced. Every waking second of my life now revolves around baby David.

"David?" Charlie complains. "Oh, come on! Why can't we name him Turnip Head?"

"This is why you're not allowed to name things, Charlie." I snuggle my face against David's soft cheeks. "I'm naming him after David Copperfield. He's my favorite Charles Dickens character." I look down at my little bundle of joy as David lets out another raspy cough. "Goodness."

Charlie hovers over me with a worried frown. "Hey, if he coughs any harder he might cough up a lung."

Bringing David up against my chest, I soothe his back with little circular motions. "You think maybe its allergies?"

"Probably just got some dust in his throat," he suggests. "Or maybe he's allergic to Brandon."

"What about me?" Brandon, who has been sitting at my feet, perks up.

"Nothing, sweetheart. Go back to your nap. And speaking of naps, its time for yours, little man."

"I'll get my guitar." Charlie leaves the tent while I tuck David into the wooden cradle a few of the men made me. Charlie returns and strums a few chords. "Sure we shouldn't play him some AC/DC?" I give him a look, and he shrugs. "Ready when you are."

I taught Charlie the tune of a lullaby my mother used to sing my brother and sisters when we were babies. When we were older, it became one of the only ways she could calm us down when we were still too young to understand what was going on between her and our father. Her voice was so sweet and soothing compared to mine, but David doesn't seem to mind. It always manages to get him to sleep. I clear my throat and begin to sing.

"Fa la ninna, fa la nanna

Nella braccia della mamma

Fa la ninna bel bambin,

Fa la nanna bambin bel,

Fa la ninna, fa la nanna

Nella braccia della mamma."

Charlie strums the last soft chord, and I brush a strand of dark black hair off of David's smooth forehead. Poor thing was tuckered out from coughing all day. It usually takes at least two rounds of the song before he's asleep.

"Cora?" a voice booms from outside. Widmore pushes himself into my tent and announces loudly, "Cora, you're needed at the clearing!"

David immediately wakes up, startled, and begins to cry.

"_For God's sake, Charles!_" I fume. "Must you always frighten children?"

"Just bring the baby with you," he snaps unapologetically. "We have a problem."

* * *

Thranduil stomps his front hoof and throws his massive elk antlers in the air. He has grown to be as large as his father once was, which just so happens to be the elk I met during my time travels. "They have taken my brother hostage!"

"Our scouts have indicated members of the Dharma Initiative abducted Legolas earlier this afternoon," Richard confirms. "Our people were outnumber at the time, or they would have attacked."

"Isn't this against the truce?" I ask, readjusting David in my arms.

Richard looks from me to Thranduil. "Animals were not explicitly mentioned in the truce. That was an unfortunate oversight on our part."

"I want him back!" Thranduil orders. "What do you plan to do, Animal Ambassador? You made promises to my father that as long as we follow your rules, no harm would come to us."

"I did." _The longer we wait to do something about this, the more of a chance that Dharma will decide to experiment on poor Legolas. But what can we do? _"Sawyer," I think aloud.

Charlie crosses his arms over his chest. "What about Sawyer?"

"He's at Dharma," I clarify. "Him and Juliet and Miles."

"Are these friends of yours?" Richard asks.

"Yes."

Widmore steps forward with a burst of cocky superiority. "You know members of the Dharma Initiative, and you never told us?"

I cannot fight the annoyed frown that tugs on my lips—not even with David in my arms. "I didn't think about it till just now," I justify. "There was never a reason to think about it."

"You're telling me you _forgot _you had contacts living within the Initiative community? Do you realize what kind of progress we could have made with those people had we known you had friends within the—"

"Enough, Charles," Eloise snaps. "Cora, is there any way in which you can communicate with these friends of yours?"

"Not besides the usual means of communication. I'd have to find them first, though."

"Good," Widmore chips in. "This is good. You can have this whole mess resolved in a matter of days. You should leave immediately."

"And you should hold your tongue," says Richard.

"No, actually he has a point." I hold a wheezing David up against my shoulder and pat his back. "Nobody from Dharma knows I exist. I can pretend to be a part of Sawyer's group. Knowing him, he's made up some lie about being shipwrecked in order to gain entry into their society. I can pretend that I got separated from them."

"You have David to think about." Richard shakes his head. "It's too dangerous."

"You have a better idea?"

"I'll send someone else in your place."

Eloise steps forward. "I'll do it."

David burps on my shoulder, and thankfully he didn't vomit this time. "Sawyer actually knows who I am. It would make the lie easier to believe. I could be in and out in a matter of days." Richard and Eloise exchange looks. "Besides," I smile as David grasps a strand of my hair and tries to eat it. "I'd like to see my friends again. It's been a long three months. I'll join their little hippy clan just long enough to find Legolas and free him. It'll work. What could go wrong?"

* * *

"And you remember how to burp him, right? You have to do it after he eats or he gets a belly ache, okay? Oh, and make sure to test the bottle before—"

"Cora," Charlie interrupts. "There are dozens of people here to help me. Don't worry. Little David is in good hands."

"You sound like an Allstate commercial." I hoist David up in the air and lower him so our noses touch. He smiles for only a split second before he coughs on my face. "You be a good boy for Richard and Ellie, alright? Mommy will be back soon."

"And what am I?" Charlie complains. "Chop liver?"

"You can be third runner up."

"_Third runner up_? I'll have you know I took care of Turnip Head—er, _Aaron_ for almost two months when Claire was still here!" Charlie wags a thumb in Richard's direction. "What has this guy ever done?"

"You're leaving again?" Brandon complains. He's grown so much from the pup he was when I first met him. It didn't dawn on me just how big he's gotten until I returned from Italy.

"I'll be back soon, Brandon. I promise." I fluff the fur around his ears. "You'll look after baby David while I'm gone, won't you?"

Brandon licks my hand. "Yes, my lady."

I pass David off to Eloise, who cannot contain the motherly instinct to pacify an agitated baby. She's the only person besides Richard and Charlie that I fully trust with anything important. It helps that she has experience with raising children, having helped raised a few on the island in her younger years. I hug Richard goodbye and pinch Charlie's cheek on my way out of the tent. "You'll make sure to sing him to sleep, right?"

"Of course."

"You remember the words?"

Charlie flicks his bangs out of his eyes. "I've only listened to you sing it about a thousand times."

"That's why you're third runner up, Charlie."

"Unbelievable," he says bitterly. Before I'm out of earshot, I hear him shout, "I learned a lullaby for you! _In a foreign language!_"

"Thranduil?" I ask the agitated elk. "I'm leaving to retrieve your brother, but I need to get to the beach as quickly as possible. If I walk I can get there in about an hour or so, but the sooner I get there the sooner I can rescue your brother."

"Ride on my back," he says. "I would be honored to escort you."

I hoist myself onto his tall back with a little difficulty. Once I've adjusted myself to riding bareback, I nod to the group gathered around the nearest soup pot hanging over a campfire. "I'll be back as quickly as possible." And then I hold on for dear life as Thranduil's strong legs propel us forward into the jungle.

* * *

"This is where I must leave you," I tell Thranduil. "I can't risk you getting captured as well."

The worried elk leans his head towards me and rests his forehead against mine. "Please bring him back."

"Hey, hey, hey, watch out for the antlers!" Thranduil's fur is coarse and thick, and when I pet him goodbye, my fingers get lost in it. "I'll return as fast as I can. I promise. Now go, before somebody sees you."

Thranduil turns and gallops away down the beach and back into the jungle. I watch until he has completely disappeared in the trees. Thranduil dropped me off a fair distance from the docks used to bring Dharma submarines in from the mainland because I wouldn't chance him being seen by a member. Plus, this will give me time to work up a sweat. I'm supposed to have been wandering around this island for three months. If I'm not a dirty, sweaty mess then I'm going to raise some questions.

I reach down and rub my arms with sand, just for good measure. My hair is already a nasty grease mop, thanks to my obsession with David sucking away all my free time. I haven't bathed in three or four days because I've been too focused on bathing David, feeding David, entertaining David, and trying to soothe his infernal cough.

After awhile my throat begins to dry out, so I reach into my small satchel for a canteen. "Wait, what the—"

"Surprise!" Frogger shouts accusingly. "Thought you could escape me? Never! I have lost my Queen, and I shall not lose you!" He leaps out of my bag and crawls his way up to my shoulder.

I smile despite myself. "By all means, join the club. It's nice to have a friend around. Need some water?"

* * *

"We're lost."

"I told you we should have kept going straight."

I take a seat on a mossy tree stump and hold Frogger in my hand. "You have any ideas?"

"Maybe we should start looking for the sonic fence instead of the submarine dock," he croaks.

"Yeah," I agree. "Maybe we should. I'm running out of water. I didn't plan on it taking this long to find. Need a little bath?"

"Please. My skin is starting to dry."

I cup my hand and pour a small amount of water from my canteen to make Frogger a tiny pool.

"And who might you be?"

I look up and my heart soars when I see those horribly ugly tan jumpsuits. I recognize one of the men as Horace Goodspeed, but I don't know who the other man is. I mean, I recognize his face, but he was one of the background members who never got much of a spotlight in the show.

"We're saved, Frogger!" I yell happily, raising Frogger up in the air. "We're saved!"

The two Dharma workers exchange worried looks. Their riffles slowly rise up to meet me. "You mind telling us what you're doing out here?"

"My ship hit an outcropping of coral not too far from here." Remembering the gist of Sawyer's lie in the show, I ask, "Have you seen my crew? I . . . I've been trying to find them for months."

"Who are they?" asks the man with dark black hair.

"Sawyer, Juliet, Miles . . . you know these people?"

"I know a Juliet and a Miles," Horace answers, placing a hand on the other man's rifle and gently pushing it down to the ground so the aim is off me. "I don't, however, know a Sawyer."

_What? _And then I remember Sawyer used an alias. "Sawyer must not have made it," I say, trying to feign sadness. "I know a Jim. Oh, and also a Jin. Is Jin okay?"

"The Asian guy?" the man with black hair asks. "Yeah, he's fine."

My lungs constrict, and I double over in a coughing fit.

"Well, now," says Horace, smiling. "We won't keep you out here any longer. We've got plenty of food and water. I'm sure you're dying to see your friends again. I'm sorry, where are my manners? I'm Horace. Horace Goodspeed."

Tears sting my eyes from the ferocity of my coughing. I shake his hand. "Cora Collins."

"I'm Phil," the man with black hair states awkwardly without holding out a hand for me to shake.

I nod in greeting. "Nice to meet you, but can we speed things up? I'm out of water, and this sun is starting to give me a headache."

* * *

Sawyer is the first to see me. Everything in his hands—two footballs, a golf club, and a badminton racket—fall in a heap on the grass as he starts towards me, looking unsure. "Cora?" The closer he gets, the faster he runs until he has my face in his hands. "Son of a bitch! You're alive!" Before I can even say anything in response, he hoists me up off my feet and starts twirling around.

Someone else wraps their arms around my waist when Sawyer finally lets me go. I turn to find Indiana. "Hey!" I exclaim in shock. "You're here?"

Faster than I can process, everyone is suddenly gathered around me. Juliet, Jin, Miles, Indiana and her mother, Lydia, and Hannah.

"Look out! Look out!" Frogger makes a mad dash for the top of my head so he doesn't get crushed.

I look down and laugh. "Nadia!"

The cat rubs against my legs, her tail sticking straight up.

"Where have you been?" Sawyer asks. "We thought—God forbid—you were dead."

"Sawyer, I need to talk to you."

He clears his throat and motions for me to be quiet. "I go by Jim now."

"Okay, _Jim,_" I say wryly, pulling him away from the group and lowering my voice. "Can I talk to you? Alone?"

* * *

Sawyer lets out a long, winded sigh and rubs at his temples. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be. I'm only a trainee. They haven't even given me a full set of keys yet. I barely convinced these people to let me stay here. Wanted to ship us off on the first sub, but we have to stay here and wait for Mr. Clean to come back."

Springs from the dated sofa I'm seated on coil and groan as I lean back, coughing into my fist. "I need access to wherever it is they took Legolas."

Sawyer nods in agreement. "I'll ask around and figure out where he's being kept. As for freeing him . . . what exactly do you plan on doing?"

"I'll think of something."

"So . . . the Hostiles, huh? How's Brittney Spears doing?"

I smile. "Charlie's great. He misses Claire, though, but . . . that can't really be helped."

For once Sawyer doesn't make a joke. "Poor kid. Send him my regards when you go back. Speaking of which, when will that be?"

"As soon as humanly possible." I take a brief glance around the room at the small generic pleasantries scattered around the house. A vase of flowers sits basking in the sunlight streaming in through the open kitchen window. Small knickknacks and decorative items sit lined up on the bookshelves. A long shaggy rug lies down in the living room between the couches. "Nothing against you guys, of course," I say, smiling. "It's just I've gotten used to camp. Not to mention I have David to look after now."

"Who's David?"

I wish I could shove my whole foot in my mouth. I don't know how much detail I should go into about my stolen orphan. "He's . . . uh, well, he's my son."

I listen to the hum of the air conditioner while Sawyer thinks of something to say.

"I'm sorry, did I miss nine months or something? Because I'm fairly certain—"

I decide to tell the truth. Sort of. "I adopted him."

"From _where_?"

"Not important."

Sawyer raises his hands at my tone. "Fair enough. So, how is . . ." He motions towards my stomach.

All of the past emotions flash through me for a moment before I can recover. "I'm not pregnant," I tell him. "It turns out it was a false alarm."

"Oh." Sawyer reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. "Well, you're more than welcome to stay here with me and Juliet for as long as you need."

"Thanks, Sawyer. I appreciate it."

"It's Jim now, remember?"

I snort. "Yeah, I'm gonna call you James."

* * *

Dinner is an odd affair. I haven't been able to look away from Juliet ever since I saw her up close. Her breasts have swollen and her belly is just showing signs of roundness. I want to know what's going on, but I can't work up the courage to ask.

Fortunately for me, I don't have to. "How's your baby?" she asks.

I drop my forkful of spaghetti, and it clanks loudly against my plate.

"Juliet, more garlic bread?" Sawyer says loudly and holds out a basket full of buttery crust.

I wipe my face with a napkin, coughing. "Sawyer, it's okay. Juliet, it turns out I was never pregnant."

Juliet looks surprised, but it doesn't last long.

I clear my throat. "So . . ." I drift off, still not brave enough to ask.

Juliet finally accepts a slice of toast and takes a crispy bite. "I'm five months, if you were wondering."

_Five months? How far back was that? Was I even on the island back then? _"Do you . . . know whose it is?"

"_Yes, I know whose it is!_"

I shrink in my seat at her outburst. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry." My eyes briefly shift up and lock with Sawyer's, but he shakes his head.

"Don't look at me!" he says. "It's not mine."

Flinging her napkin down on the table, Juliet pushes up out of her seat. "It's Goodwin's. Damnit, why won't you people just leave me alone?" In a rush of angry energy, Juliet flees down the hall. I hear a door slam, and the house falls silent.

"Well," Sawyer sighs and sets the basket of bread back down on the table. "That could have gone better." I stand up to follow her, but Sawyer asks me to sit. "Hormones," he explains. "She's been full up to her eyeballs with them lately. I would just leave her be for a while. Let her calm down."

My appetite has been destroyed. "You have an extra pair of pajamas I can borrow?"

Sawyer hops up and begins cleaning off the table. "Sure do. Tell you what . . . I'll sleep out here on the couch tonight, and you can have my bed."

_Oh, no. _My stomach drops at the thought of sleeping alone. "Actually," I counter, "uh, would you be opposed to, uh, _not _sleeping on the couch?"

His eyebrows scrunch together. "You want the couch? It's not very confortable."

"No, actually, I was, uh, wondering if you would . . . sleep with me in . . . in the same room," I finish lamely.

I'm treated to a blank stare. I think I've accomplished the impossible. I've made Sawyer speechless. "You mean like in the same bed?"

"In a completely platonic way, yes," I clarify.

"In a completely platonic way," he repeats.

"Look, Sawyer—"

"Jim."

"Whatever," I shoot back. "I suffer from horrible nightmares, and it helps me fall asleep when I know someone I trust is near me. So if that makes you uncomfortable, just say so."

Relief flashes through his features, and he lets out a nervous laugh. "Yeah. No, that's fine. Of course. Let me get you some pajamas."

* * *

In the late hours of the night, I awake in a pool of my own sweat. A massive pressure is on my chest, weighing me down and making it hard for my lungs to expand and contract correctly. Sawyer's hands brush away hair plastered to my damp forehead. "Wake up," someone says, but I'm not entirely sure if it's Sawyer's voice. _Where the hell am I?_

I remember bit by bit what led me here, but my heart never slows. Rolling over, I think of David. I miss holding him. He's such a wonderful baby—sleeps soundly through the night, cries only when he's hungry, takes regular naps. I knew leaving him behind would be hard, but I had no idea it would be this difficult. It feels like a part of me has been ripped out. "I'm okay, Sawyer," I lie. "I'm sorry I woke you."

* * *

Someone is shaking me awake. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. You have an agitated Hippie that requests your presence."

_Sawyer. _I smack his hand away and roll to the side, pulling the blanket over my head in the process.

Sheets are stripped from the bed, and I'm forced to curl up in a ball to shield myself from the morning sun. "I'm sorry to have to wake you, but they really need a word."

"Who?" I grumble.

* * *

"Hi, Miss Collins?"

I cough violently in response.

Miss _smile-like-her-life-depends-on-it_ takes a step back. Not far enough away to be considered rude, but still. "My name's Jenifer, and I'll be the one in charge of your assessment today."

I pound a fist against my chest in a futile attempt to break up the congestion in my lungs. It still feels like someone is sitting on me. "Assessment?"

"For your job placement."

"_Job placement?_" Oh, great. I just want to be in and out of here as fast as possible. What do I need a job for?

"Everyone at the Dharma Initiative has a purpose," she explains. "There are a wide range of positions currently available, should you prove qualified."

It may be her condescending tone, or the stupid fake smile on her lips, but there's something about this girl that just rubs me the wrong way. "How does the assessment work?"

Her already wide smile widens. "Do you have a position you're already interested in?"

_Maybe I can work this to my advantage. _"I'd love to work with the animals."

"Oh," Jenifer says slowly and drawn out, "there are no current positions open on Hydra Island. Sorry about that. Anything else?"

I spot Indiana bouncing along among a group of children being lead across the courtyard by a woman in a tan jumpsuit. Even from here I can see the little apple emblem stitched to her uniform. Memories jolt back to when I visited my old, creepy house and found a picture of myself in the future. I worked here as a teacher. "I'd like to be an educator."

"Oh," Jenifer repeats in the same tone as before, "there are no teaching positions open at this time." She flips through a clipboard full of papers and smiles up at me. "Here's what I'll do . . . I'll list off some open positions, and you pick which one you believe you're most suited for."

* * *

"This is bullshit."

Sawyer picks up my new folded uniform and frowns. "A workman?"

My lungs spasm, and I break out in coughs. Sawyer rushes to get me a glass of water. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just can't shake this stupid cough."

"How long have you had it?"

"Few weeks," I barely get out before another spasm overtakes me.

Sawyer fixes me with worried eyes. "You should go see the nurse. Get some cough medicine or something."

"Yeah," I agree. _Maybe they have some for babies. I can take some back to poor David._

Juliet shuffles into the room and pauses when she sees me. "Good morning," she says quietly.

"You mean good afternoon," Sawyer jokes. "You've slept the day away."

She spots a dish on the counter and proceeds to scrub it clean in the sink without another word to either of us. I exchange a look with Sawyer, but he only raises his eyebrows and announces he's been called into work. Grabbing his walkie, Sawyer makes a break for the door, and I am left alone with an angry pregnant woman.

I decide it's time to try and fix whatever rift I've created between the both of us. Clearing my throat, I wait for Juliet to finish her compulsory kitchen clean up. But when the dishes have all been cleaned, she does not turn around to face me.

"Go ahead and say it."

Her words take me completely off guard. "Say what?"

Slowly, she turns around to look at me. I'm struck by how beautiful she looks with the sunlight bouncing off the back of her golden hair like a halo. Her entire being radiates with an unmatched pregnancy glow that even her sour mood cannot dull. In fact, she's so pretty it's actually starting to piss me off a little bit.

"You were right," she whispers, a bitter smile on her lips. "You were right about the people on the freighter."

"Juliet—"

"People are dead because of me." I open my mouth to refute, but she won't allow it. "I told Jack where the Looking Glass Station was, Cora. Don't tell me this isn't my fault."

"What do you want me to say, Juliet? It happened. There's nothing we can do about it now."

Juliet's lips tremble for a moment, but she's quick to squash it out by pressing her lips together with so much force they turn white.

"You need to stop stressing yourself out. It's not good for the baby."

A short burst of humorless laughter escapes her. "The baby."

"Do you not want a baby?"

"It's not about wanting or not wanting a baby. Of course I want this baby . . . I just . . ."

_Is she afraid about raising a child alone since Goodwin is dead? _"Juliet, it's okay. We're all here to help if you need us."

"I'm going to die," she whispers.

And then the tears begin.

* * *

"Here's your standard supplies." Roger hands me a mop and bucket on wheels, a spray bottle full of cleaning solution, five rags, and a scraper. "You ever run out of cleaning solution, they have jugs of extra down in that cabinet over there."

Finding out I was assigned a janitors position was bad enough, but having to be trained by Ben's father—Ben's drunk-ass unhygienic father—is more than I can bear. I snatch the mop away from him and mumble, "Fan-freaking-tastic."

"Let me guess," Roger grumbles sympathetically. "You didn't sign up for this, right?"

"I signed up to be an educator."

"Fascists," he mutters under his breath. I wonder if he even knows what that word means.

I have to follow Roger around all day, cleaning classrooms and hallways. The only light at the end of the tunnel is that he is so hard pressed for conversation that he pretty much answers all of my questions. "Have you heard anything about these people catching an elk?"

Roger sloshes his mop back into the sudsy water. "A what?"

"An elk. It kind of looks like an oversized deer."

"Huh. Yeah, I head about that."

"Do you know where it is?"

"I think I heard Horace say to keep him in the security headquarters for now, until they can ship him off to that weird experiment island of theirs."

"When can I leave?" I ask. "When is my shift over?"

Roger glances at his watch. "Not for another hour. Look, if you really want to see that elk, we can go mop the floors in the security room."

I mean to agree with his plan, but the words won't come out. My chest is on fire. Throughout the day it's gotten progressively harder to breathe.

"You don't look so good," Roger states with a grimace of disgust. "I think maybe you should just sit this one out."

"No, I'm fine—"

"No, seriously," he insists, "go home. I don't want to catch whatever it is you have. I'll be fine without you for one measly hour."

The truth is that I feel like absolute garbage, but I really want to make sure Legolas is all right. But, then again, if he is being kept in the security headquarters, then that means Sawyer can update me on what the Initiative plan to do with him. Not being able to muster the strength to refute Roger's offer, I hand over my mop and sluggishly find my way back home.

* * *

I wake up shivering. Somebody has their hand pressed against my forehead, but I don't know who it is. My head is clogged, and all I can hear is the frantic beating of my heart. Beads of cold perspiration trail down my face, stinging my eyes, but I don't even have the strength to wipe them away. A cold cloth is pressed to my forehead, and my shivers increase.

* * *

I awake to a loud voice yelling my name, but when I open my eyes, there isn't anyone there. Sitting up has made me incredibly dizzy. I'm alone in Sawyer's room. From the looks of the light outside, I'd guess it is late afternoon. _How long have I been asleep? _

Shaking on unstable feet, I grope my way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The person I find standing by the sink makes me stop dead in my tracks.

"Dad?"

He spins around, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You can see me?"

"What are you doing here?" I gasp. "Where's mom? Is she here with you?"

"No," he grumbles. "Your mother isn't here."

"How did . . . when did . . . _What the hell are you doing here?_"

"I've been _trying_ to get someone's attention for months!" he exclaims. "You saw me for a split second one night, and I've been bouncing back and forth like bad radio waves ever since."

"How long have you been here?"

"Cora?" Juliet's voice wafts in from the bedroom. She shuffles down the hall and into the kitchen in a bathrobe. "You're not supposed to be up!"

I look from my father to Juliet, but she does not seem to notice him. "There's a man, right there."

"What are you talking about?" Juliet looks directly at my father, but her eyes don't register him. They flit away over cups and bowls and food sitting on the counter, slowly studying the room before landing back on me. "Cora, please go rest."

"She can't see you," I think aloud.

My father smiles, his gaze wandering down to the cheep linoleum kitchen flooring. When he looks back up at me, one of his eyes is crying a steady stream of blood down the side of his face. "That's probably because I'm dead."

Rich, powerful flames engulf both my lungs, and I collapse on the floor in an uncontrollable series of violent coughs, gasping for my life.


	33. Quarantine

_I am four, and I am happy. The sun shines warm and bright in the sky. Sweet pollen floats gently on a breeze that makes the edge of my dress dance. Bright green grass tickles my toes. This is paradise. This is what my life would have been if my father hadn't become an alcoholic._

"Wake up," they say.

"_Not yet," I beg. "Let me dream for a little bit longer."_

"Cora, can you hear me?"

_My heart soars away on great and powerful wings. Through the fluttering of my weak eyelids, I open them just enough to see her in all her glory._

_ My mother is here._

_ My mother is here to save me._

_ But when she opens her mouth, I cannot understand what she's saying._

* * *

They think I am unconscious, or in too much pain to concentrate on their discussion, but I hear every word.

"The tests confirm tuberculosis," Juliet says. "But I don't understand how she could have caught that here."

"Italy," I think aloud. _I must have contracted it in Italy._

"Italy?" Sawyer moves hair off my sweaty forehead. "Jules, she's not making sense."

"Get out," I rasp.

Sawyer leans in closer. "What?"

My eyes go wide for a split second, and I manage to shout, "Get your baby out of here!"

Juliet takes a weary step backwards, but it is Sawyer who responds. "Cora, we can't leave," he explains, surprisingly calm. "The whole house is under quarantine."

* * *

My fever is worse. It feels as if my brain is slowly being boiled. My head pounds itself into oblivion. I no longer have the strength to open my eyes—not even when I recognize the people talking about me.

A panicked voice, rich with worry, asks, "What does she need?"

"Juliet wrote a list." There's the sound of paper crinkling. "There's quite a few on here, Chief. We put in an emergency request from the mainland, but the submarine isn't due back for another two weeks, and she needs this medicine now."

"I'll get them," Richard assures.

"Juliet says she needs them soon. Within the next few days, if possible. When can you have them by?"

With the last remaining stubbornness within my collapsing lungs, I wheeze out, "_Richard?_"

I cannot see a thing, but I smell him when he draws near.

"Go back to sleep, Cora."

I sound like the undead. "_David_."

"He's being taken care of. As soon as I can get medicine, I'll see to it that he's the first to be treated."

_Oh, my God. David. I got David sick. It took longer for me to show symptoms, but his little immune system isn't prepared for this._

_ Can an infant even survive tuberculosis?_

_ God in heaven, take me instead._

Richard leans in closer. I feel his breath on my cheek. "I'm waiting for Jacob to return from the mainland. The tree does not work without him."

Digging my fingernails into the bed sheet, I strain to roll out of bed. _I'll crawl to him if I have to. _I brace for impact, but despite my best efforts, all I've managed to do is roll my head to the other side of my pillow. "_My . . . baby . . ."_

Cool hands press against my searing skin. "I cannot bring him here," Richard explains. "The house is quarantined and under constant surveillance. They would take him away if they found him."

I slump against the listless springs of the mattress and melt into a useless blot. My father's face hovers in the space between my bed and the ceiling. I frown at him, thoroughly furious at the fact that his face might be the last thing I see before I die.

Instead of fixing me with one of his usual dismissive snarls, he actually looks worried. I'm in the stages of drifting off to sleep when I hear him say, "Don't die on me, kid."

* * *

I wake up like I would any day of the week. In fact, I wake up feeling so normal that I begin to wonder if I had dreamed that I was sick.

"Good morning."

My heart jumpstarts in my chest. The small burst of energy allows for me to push myself up and against the headboard. "How are you here?" I ask in disbelief. "How did you get past their fence?"

Richard shifts in the seat beside my bed and smiles. "Their fence may keep other things out, but not me." David is in his arms, sleeping soundly. "I'm here to reunite you."

My baby looks perfectly healthy. I hold him close and inspect him once, twice, three times before I'm satisfied. The constant shifting wakes him up, but he doesn't cry. Blinking up at me through his long, dark lashes, David opens his mouth and squeals with delighted recognition. I brush hair out of his face and blink away the moisture gathering in my eyes. "I missed you too, buddy."

There's a gentle hand on my arm. "Everyone back at camp has received vaccines."

"What?" I snap back to attention. "Has the submarine already returned to the island?"

"No," Richard explains, "Jacob returned early, and I was able to retrieve medicine from The States."

I can't help but laugh, despite my dry throat. "The States? What, you're not calling it the New World anymore?" David grasps a lock of my hair and tries to eat it, like always. I bring him up to my lips and kiss the soft skin between his eyebrows. The joy of seeing him healthy is enough to bring me to tears.

And then an angry voice ruins it all. "Who the hell is this guy?"

I close my eyes and steady my breathing. Unfortunately, it looks like my father wasn't part of the fever dreams. It also looks like Richard cannot see or hear him.

I decide to ignore him.

"I know you can hear me, Cora," my father snaps, and suddenly he is hovering right next to Richard's shoulder, glaring down at him like he's some disgusting unmentionable stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "Who is this?"

"How long can you stay, Richard?" I ask, once again ignoring my father's increasingly louder questions.

Richard's smile remains in place. "Not long, I'm afraid. The submarine carrying your medicine is scheduled to return this afternoon. It's best if I leave before then. And," he adds, "It's best if you continue to act sick. We can't afford to let these people know I interfered."

"I'm not going to ask again, Cora," my father orders. "Explain to me what the hell is going on here!"

Sawyer knocks on my closed bedroom door and peaks in. "Sorry, Maybelline, but you and the kid have gotta scat. Phil and his team are scheduled to unload the sub soon, so they'll be showing up any time now."

I instinctively recoil when Richard reaches for my baby. _I've finally got him back! You can't take him away! _But I understand what could happen if these people discovered him in my room. Questions would be asked that I don't have answers to, and the whole mess would jeopardize not only David's safety, but the safety of all of my friends. I can't afford to have suspicious activity linked to them.

With a heavy heart, I hand David off to Richard.

* * *

"Give me the good news first."

Sawyer leans back against the kitchen counter. He finishes pealing an orange and pops one of the slices in his mouth. "Good news is that your Quarantine postponed Legolas's transportation to Hydra Island. He's still being held in the Security Office."

"And the bad news?"

"Now that the island has been vaccinated, he's scheduled for transportation at the end of the week."

"I want to see him."

"That's easier said than done."

_How hard can it be to smuggle an elk out of the Security Room and back to the fence?_ "Sawyer—"

"Jim."

"Whatever. I really need to see him to know what I'm up against. If I can't get him out of here—"

Sawyer cuts me off. "And what's gonna happen when they capture another animal? I've heard them talking amongst themselves. They've been capturing island animals since the moment they claimed this land in the name of science. You can't keep your eye on every member."

He's right. Even if I manage to free Legolas, these people will still continue to experiment on the wildlife because that wasn't in the truce. But how will we make amendments to the truce? I need an immediate solution for the time being. I need to make it clear that their current behavior is unacceptable. Punishable.

I watch as Juliet begins folding clothes. She pulls pillowcases out of the laundry basket and shakes out the winkles. "I have an idea," I announce, "but I'm going to need a lot of white cloth."

Sawyer pops the last of the orange in his mouth. "What for?"

I grab a bed sheet from out of the laundry basket sitting on the couch and gather it into my lap. "I think it's time these people met an island deity."

* * *

Every occasion warrants a party at the Dharma Initiative. Simply recovering from an illness was enough to cause a full-fledged celebration. Banners, streamers, tables full of food for as far as the eye can see. It's madness.

I sit alone at a picnic table away from all the action. It's giving me a headache. A small plate of chips lies uneaten in front of me. I pick one up and break off the end with my front teeth, savoring the greasy, salty junk. It's been so long since I had something this unhealthy that I'm cautious about eating it. It might make me sick, but that doesn't mean I don't crave it.

My father sits across from me. "You're not eating. That's new."

"Shut the hell up."

His lip curls back over his teeth. "And you've got a mouth on you. Imagine that."

"You never answered me," I snarl. "What are you even doing here?"

"I already told you. _I don't know. _I died, and then I just sort of woke up here. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't touch anything. I can't do shit. Hell, I can't even _take_ a shit anymore."

"Real nice, dad."

A young voice asks, "Cora, who are you talking to?"

I rub at my eyelids and wish I didn't have to deal with any of this. "Nobody."

Indiana plops down next to me, readjusting her glasses. "What are you doing way over here?"

"I'm not in a party mood," I grumble, finally abandoning the chip.

"Have you met Mrs. Goodspeed yet? She's my teacher. She's super nice. Come on, she's right over there if you want to meet her."

I allow Indiana to tug me over to a thin blonde woman laughing amongst a group of other thin blonde women. They all fall silent when we approach.

"Mrs. Goodspeed?"

The woman is definitely a teacher. She's perfected the non-threatening smile of an educator. "Hello, Indiana! And you must be Cora. It's nice to finally meet you. How are you feeling?"

"Great," I answer as enthusiastically as I can. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Goodspeed." I try to flee, but the woman reaches out and grabs my hand.

"Please, call me Olivia," she insists. She has a firm handshake.

"Okay," I say, retracting my hand and wiping it discreetly on my pants. I turn to collect Indiana, but the little turd has ditched me.

"Jenifer tells me you'd like to become an educator?"

I turn back to Olivia with a tense smile. "No positions open."

"Yes, I know. I'm currently in charge of the education department. I teach a class of students age twelve to eighteen. I was wondering if you would like to shadow me. If you're interested, I could ask my husband to make you my assistant. Then you could substitute for me when I'm unavailable. Would you be interested?"

"Absolutely." I'm so used to never having things go my way that this rare patch of luck throws me off. "That would be great. Thank you."

"Perfect! I'll tell Horace to file the paperwork immediately."

"Okay." I wave at the group of women who stand around silently staring at me without mimicking Olivia's cheerful smile. "Thanks again. I'll get back to you on that. Okay. Bye."

"Won't you stay?" Olivia persists. "We were just discussing the—"

"Oh, no thank you," I interrupt. "I actually have to . . . go do that thing . . . over there." When I turn to make an escape, I practically run over a kid. He hurries away from me, mumbling apologies. I watch him disappear within the crowds of people standing around.

Indiana magically reappears at my side. "Isn't it _weird?_"

"What?"

"Him," she says, pointing at Ben's retreating figure. "He's so tiny and adorable. Isn't he? And to think that he's gonna be your husband in, like, thirty years or something. Isn't that weird?"

_Weird. No, this goes above and beyond the call of weird. _Luckily Sawyer saves me from answering.

"Scat, four eyes," he tells Indiana. "We've got big people business to discuss."

I frown. "Lay off her, Sawyer."

"For the last time, it's Jim!"

"LaFleur." I say. "How about I call you that? I think I can remember that. Okay then, LaFleur, what is it you want?"

He nods towards the picnic table I was sitting at, and we take a seat across from each other. My father stands next to me, out of place.

"I've made arrangements for me, Jin, and Miles to take over the afternoon shift at the security headquarters. Horace and the rest of the crew seemed pretty eager to join this party, so they didn't put up much of a fight." He leans in closer and lowers his voice. "I may or may not have removed the bullets from all of our rifles, so it would be a real shame if some angry island psycho stormed our headquarters."

"A real shame," I agree with a smile. "When do you start your shift?"

* * *

"Steady, Legolas. Steady." I readjust the tightly wrapped cloth around my face and ask, "Are you sure you can't tell who I am?" I'm covered head to toe in multiple bed sheets I stitched together last night. The dress portion is so billowy it is impossible to tell my body shape, and my face is almost completely covered with a full head wrap I made, but the fear of being recognized still lingers in the back of my mind.

"Positive," LaFleur confirms.

I take one last look around the room. LaFleur has already destroyed the tape recording of us down here in the office. The monitors showing the entire island have been shut off, and on each of the screens I've written a message in red lipstick I stole from Juliet.

The message reads: _Leave my animals alone. The lady of the night is watching._

"You're coming back, right?" Miles asks. "You've already tried to kill us off with an infectious disease—which I really didn't appreciate, by the way. I'm not going to have these people arrest me because you want to go all superhero on us."

I twist around on Legolas's back. "What are you talking about?"

"What's going to happen when these people realize you're gone? They'll have our asses if they figure out you're linked to this escape."

_Damn, he's right. I had hoped this would be it. I'd free Legolas and go home to David and Richard and Charlie and the comfort of my tent. I should have known better than to expect such good luck. _"Yeah," I agree, as if it had been my plan all along. "Of course I'm coming back."

"We must go!" Legolas prompts. "I've been in this cell for far too long."

"Will you be okay?" I ask LaFleur. "Until I return?"

"Sure thing, darlin'. Now get out of here, and remember the path I showed you. It's the only spot that the cameras can't see. Once you're outside the fence, make sure to turn it back on. The confusion should give me some time to explain what happened."

Legolas bolts forward towards the hard cement steps leading up to the courtyard. With a crash we explode out into the cool night air and gallop towards the party. At first it is as if we are invisible, but as soon as someone points out what's going on, the party becomes a cacophony of confusion.

Nervous from all the screaming people, Legolas speeds up. White material swirls around me like a parachute. I hold on tightly to his antlers as he leaps over a picnic table. Olivia Goodspeed stands at the front of the crowd, frozen in the middle of the courtyard. She's paralyzed by shock and fear. Instead of running around her, Legolas dips his head down and charges forward, crashing through the crowd at full speed. His entire body jolts from the impact, and a wet spray speckles my face. Olivia's body is hooked between Legolas's antlers.

I close my eyes until we have reached the clearing that leads to the fence. I direct Legolas to the path unseen by security cameras, and together the two of us escape into the night.

* * *

"Bloody hell." Charlie ambushes me with a tight hug that doesn't show signs of stopping. He smells of campfire and wet grass and comfort. "I've been so worried. When Richard told me you were sick—"

"Where is he?" I interrupt.

Charlie widens his eyes and wipes at my face. "Hold on, is this . . . blood?"

It isn't that I'm not happy to see Charlie, it's just that I'm in a rush, I'm not entirely sure my plan will work, and I have the blood of people I just met all over my face. Halfway back to camp, Olivia's body dislodged from Legolas's antlers and rolled to a stop somewhere in the jungle. I was such a bundle of nerves I couldn't even ask for Legolas to stop so I could check to see if she was still alive.

I push past Charlie without answering him and call for Richard.

He appears, carrying David. "What happened?"

I rip off the bloody material wrapped around my face and toss it into the nearest campfire. "Give me David."

"Cora, what happened?"

I pull David out of Richard's arms and hold him close to my chest, fighting to keep the laughter at bay. Holding him isn't calming me down, but it is a small comfort to have him close. I hold him against my shoulder and gently rock him, more for my sake than for his. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

People begin to swarm. Questions are flung at incredible speeds, and it's all too much for me to handle. _People are dead. I didn't mean for this to happen._

Warm hands cup my face. "Cora, explain to me what's going on."

I cling to David for dear life. "I have to go back."

Richard refuses to release my face. "Why do you have to go back?"

"I have to go back right now."

"Hold on." Richard rubs a thumb under my eye and inspects it. "Whose blood is this?"

I wipe furiously at my face with a billowy white sleeve. "Not important."

"How is it not important? Seems pretty important."

"Richard, I don't have time for this. If I don't go back, everyone will know I was the one responsible for this, and then what will happen to my friends? The Initiative thinks I'm part of Sawyer's group, so if I'm guilty, they are guilty by association. I have to go back to protect them."

"I take it your escape plan was not without casualties?"

A nervous jitter has begun in my arms, so I hand David back off to Richard.

"What about us?" Richard asks. "You belong here with your people."

"I'll come back every night to check in, and then I'll just go back in the morning." _Yes. Yes, that's a good plan. I can do that._

Richard raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Think you can manage that?"

"I'll manage. Take good care of him." I give David one last kiss and take off running.

* * *

"I know it's such short notice, but I don't really see any point in postponing it. Olivia would have wanted it this way."

I fix Horace with a sympathetic look and grip the pencil tightly between my fingers. Olivia's unofficial funeral was barely a week ago, and it was only this morning when Horace approached me with a job offer as the new schoolteacher. If I pass this twenty-page exam in the allotted time, I'll be cleared to replace Mrs. Goodspeed immediately.

I feel sick, and almost none of my nauseousness is due to worry that I may not pass. I found Olivia's body on my way back to the fence. In a half ditch effort to hide her, I dragged her behind a bush and covered her with bits of vegetation. I had been so worried about someone finding out I wasn't at the Barracks that I didn't have time to properly bury her.

"Cora? You okay?"

"What?" I shoot up in my seat with a fake smile plastered to my face.

Horace points at my exam. "I said time starts now."

_Take a deep breath. Calm down. You can do this. Don't freak yourself out. _The first part of the exam is math equations. It takes me a while, but then I'm on to the next portion, which consists of logical reasoning.

"That second one is wrong," comes a voice over my shoulder.

_Oh, God. _I snort in response.

"What?" my father says. "Just thought maybe you'd like to know that some other lady is taking an exam right next door for this exact position. So far she's only missed two. You've missed three."

"What?" I blurt out.

Horace looks up from the magazine he's browsing. "Something wrong?"

"No, sorry." I return to the test and scour the answers for any mistakes.

"Number two on the math section," my father clarifies. "It's wrong. You interchanged the 8 and 4. It should be four hundred and eight."

I recheck it and let out an annoyed exhale. He's right. Furiously scratching out the answer with my eraser, I pencil in the correct numbers and pause, looking up at my father expectantly.

"Oh," he exclaims. "So _now_ you want my help?"

My lips press together in a hard line. "Why are you helping me anyway?" I whisper.

"Because I literally have nothing better to do. Nobody else can see me or hear me. I can't touch anything either, so I can't even properly haunt these little hippie shits."

Just the sound of his voice has made me break out in a cold sweat. _Why me? Of all the people he could have haunted after death, why me? Why now? _It's not fair. I'm about to tell him to go take a hike when he gives me the answers for the other two problems I got wrong.

"You know, for someone as smart as you are, you sure are making a whole mess of stupid mistakes."

_Hold. The. Phone. _I'm not entirely sure if it was a slip of the tongue, but he just called me smart . . . didn't he? My concentration is officially shot to hell.

"You have thirty minutes left, Cora," Horace announces.

_Oh, no. _I flip through the test. I'm not even halfway done with it yet. There's no way I'm going to finish.

"Osmosis," my father starts reading off a list of random words. "President Truman, 1926, sedimentary, metamorphic, and igneous—in that order, I might add."

"What are you talking about?" I hiss.

"The answers, numbskull. Hurry up and fill them in!"

Both my hands are shaking by the time I fill in the last answer.

"Right on," Horace says with a smile. "And with fifteen minutes to spare. Very impressive. Now, if you want to hang around I can look this over and give you your final score, but I won't be able to tell you if you got the job until Jenifer is done with her exam."

"Jenifer?" _Smile-like-a-lunatic Jenifer?_

"Yeah, sorry I didn't mention it before hand. It's kind of against policy to disclose the names of contenders until after the exam has been completed. Alright then, lets see what we got here." I watch as Horace scans the first two pages, nodding. His eyebrows slowly start inching upwards when he reaches page fifteen. "Well," he says after flipping the last page shut, "I'm not really supposed to do this, but would you like the position? It would be effective immediately."

"You want to hire me?" I ask in disbelief. "Right now?"

"You got a solid one hundred percent," says Horace, and I have to fight the hot blush of shame that stings my cheeks. "So I at least know you're educated. You good with kids?"

"I love kids."

Horace nods with approval at the conviction in my voice. "Then consider it yours. Come on. I'll fix you up with a jumpsuit."

* * *

"A teacher?" Richard hands me a plate of fruit. "What are the students like?"

"I don't know yet. My first day on the job is tomorrow." David has already fallen asleep against my chest. "You guys have any advice to help me get through my first day?"

"Be cool," Charlie suggests. "You've got to be down with their lingo, you dig?"

"We're in the seventies, Charlie. I don't know their lingo."

"Just be yourself," says Richard, "and they'll be bound to like you."

"Barf." My father sticks a finger in his mouth and pretends to vomit.

I try to ignore him. "Thanks, you guys."

* * *

Your first day of school is just as scary when you're a teacher than it is when you're a student.

I stand outside the closed classroom door for what seems like an eternity. Indiana allowed me to bring her pet bunny, Prince Humperdinck, with me to class. He's such a nervous wreck I figure the task of calming him down will calm me down in the process. I grip his cage to help steady my trembling arms.

_Just be cool_, Charlie said.

Be cool. Kids like cool.

_I am going to be the freaking coolest teacher in the history of education._

I take a deep breath and slam the door open with my hip. "YO, YO, YO, MY PEEPS!"

The classroom falls dead silent. I set the rabbit cage down at my desk and stare out into the eyes of my students. _Say something. Say something, Cora. It's getting weird. _

_Think. What's something you wished you had learned in school? Something cool?_

"How many of you can read Tengwar?" I ask loudly.

A little redhead girl raises her hand. "What's that?"

_A response! Haha, I'm on a roll! _"There's work to be done!" I throw my arms up and turn to the chalkboard. "Alright, class. My name is Miss Collins, and I'll be replacing your old teacher indefinably."

The redhead raises her hand again. "Miss Collins, what happened to Mrs. Goodspeed?"

I swallow down the gathering saliva and clear my throat. "Mrs. Goodspeed isn't a teacher here anymore. She, uh . . . she's taking an extended vacation." I steady my hand as I write the long, flowing lines of Tengwar on the chalkboard. "Now, I want everyone to take out a piece of paper and a pencil. We're going to learn how to introduce ourselves in the written Tengwar, as well as the spoken Sindarin." Under the lines I write the translation (Greetings, friend. My name is _.)

The redhead raises her hand _again_. "Miss Collins, what's Send-ertin?"

"Sin-dar-in," I sound out and clap my hands together excitedly. "Elvish!"

"Why are we learning Elvish?" she asks. "It's not a language. There's no such thing as Elves."

_Oh, my heart._

_There's one in every class. The party pooper. The teacher's pet. The studious little realist. Kids aren't supposed to be so logical at such a young age. Hasn't this girl ever heard of imagination?_

The class gets very, very quiet. I slowly walk through the aisles until I've reached her desk. "What's your name?"

"Annie," she answers.

"Well then, Annie, thank you for volunteering to go first. Repeat after me. EH-neth neen Annie. My name is Annie."

"Eh-neth . . ."

"Neen."

"Neen . . . Annie?"

I smile, and I swear I can feel everyone around me relax. "That was pretty convincing, for someone who denies their existence. Are you sure you don't have Elf in your lineage?"

One by one my students raise their hands and cry, "Me next!"

I turn to look at all the hopefuls, and I come face to face with my husband. Seeing him is the equivalent of being kicked in the throat. For a second I cannot breathe, and then suddenly I am breathing too fast. _Keep it together. _I clear my throat for the thousandth time and ask him, "And what's your name?"

Ben gapes at me through his little circular spectacles.

"Hellllooooo?" I wave a hand in front of his face, and he snaps back to attention, shrinking in his seat as the class breaks out into giggles. "Are you going to tell me your name or not?"

Ben shrinks further in his seat and stares at his thumbs. Poor thing looks so miserable I want to scoop him up and rock him to sleep like I do with David.

A loud siren goes off outside, and my students all look to me for instruction.

_Hm. Richard never mentioned anything about a raid. Odd._

"Well, go on, then," I instruct. "Go huddle in the corner."

I unlatch the cage on my desk, pull out the panicked white rabbit, and start stroking his fur to calm him down.

It isn't long before my father shows up. "Your boyfriend's here."

"What?"

"The Spanish guy with the million eyelashes. He wrote up a new treaty that protects all island animals, and he's here to deliver it. Decided it would be best to just storm in all commando."

"He's not my boyfriend."

My father rolls his eyes just as the sirens stop.

"Okay kids," I announce, returning Prince Humperdinck to his cage. "Crisis averted. Back to the lesson. I want everyone to copy down what I've written on the board."

* * *

"Were the theatrics really necessary, Richard?"

"Asks the woman who dressed up and rode through the Barracks on an elk."

I laugh. "Touché."

"The Initiative has gotten too comfortable lately." Richard takes a seat next to me on the floor of my tent. "They need to be reminded that they are guests here, and that we do not take kindly to them breaking our truce."

"Thank you for the amendments, by the way. It's nice to know it's all down in writing. Idle threats by a crazy woman in a white dress will only get us so far."

Richard reaches out to smooth David's hair. "I need you to make arrangements for this weekend."

"What do you mean?"

"Jacob requests your presence at the beach. He said it might take a few days. You'll need to alert your friends so they can make excuses for your absence."

"Did he say what this meeting was for?"

"No." Richard scoots closer and smiles down at the slumbering David. "But I suppose you'll find out soon enough."

"You mind holding him for a while?" I ask. "I need to use the restroom."

Despite my announcement, my father follows me out. "I told you he likes you."

I tread lightly through camp. Everyone has already fallen asleep, and the only sound comes from the night bugs screeching their songs in the darkness. "Of course he likes me," I whisper. "We're pretty much best friends."

"He was fussing with the baby so he'd have an excuse to touch you. Trust me. Guys do that kind of stuff all the time."

"Yes, because it's impossible for people of the opposite sex to have a completely platonic relationship."

"I'm not saying that's impossible. I'm just saying that's not what's going on."

"We're done here," I snap. "You can leave me alone now."

"You're only angry because I'm right."

Now that I'm far enough away from camp, I let him have it. "Look, just because _you_ think it's okay to shove your . . . man parts into anything that moves, doesn't mean everyone else does! You may find this hard to believe, but I actually follow the practices of monogamy. You know, that vow you make when you get married? The one where you're _not _supposed to whore around on your spouse?"

His snarl deepens. "You have no idea what you're even talking about, little girl."

At first glance she looks like my mother, but when she gets closer I see that she is not. She emerges from out of the jungle in a tangle of black hair. Her presence is enough to wipe the furious expression off my father's face. With a finger pointing angrily at my father's chest, the woman begins viciously chastising him in Spanish.

My dad tries to back up, but she won't relent. "Holy shit, lady. Calm yourself. Calmarse! _Calmarse!"_

I watch in wonderment as the woman pounds a finger into my father's chest. He's not fighting back. The two of them begin exchanging angry conversation in Spanish, but I only catch half of what they're saying.

"Dad, who is this?"

"You can see her?" he asks.

"Why would I be asking about someone I can't see?"

"She's been following me around since I got here," he answers, and the woman who looks so much like my mother, but is not, turns to face me. "Says her name is Isabella."


	34. Remember The Titans

_The Island, 1997_

_ I watch with smug satisfaction as Charles Widmore takes his final steps on this island. He makes his way across the docks towards the submarine that will take him far, far away from this place. _

_ "Charles!" I call, finally striding out onto the dock. "I came to say goodbye."_

_ "No you didn't," he retorts. "You came to gloat."_

_ "No," I deny, "don't act as if I wanted this. You brought this on yourself."_

_ Charles fixes me with a penetrating glare. "Are you quite certain you want to do this, Benjamin?"_

_ "You left the island regularly. You had a daughter with an outsider. You broke the rules Charles—"_

_ "And what makes you think you deserve to take what's mine?"_

_ "Because I won't be selfish," I answer without pause. "Because I'll sacrifice anything to protect this island."_

_ "You wouldn't sacrifice Alex."_

_ "You're the one who wanted her dead, Charles, not the island."_

_ "And what about Cora?"_

_ This throws me off. "What does she have to do with anything?"_

_ "Would you sacrifice her to save this island?"_

_ He's lost it. These are the final ramblings of an old man who has lost at his own game, and I refuse to play along. "We're done here," I tell the men carrying his few belongings onto the sub. "You can take him now." I catch the eye of a young man as he bends down to grab a suitcase, and he tries to hurry away at the sight of me. "David?"_

_ He halts halfway to the sub and slowly turns around. "Yes, Mr. Linus?"_

_ I sigh. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't let you leave on that sub. You know your father doesn't allow you on trips to the mainland."_

_ "Come on," he pleads. "Just this once? I'll be back by the end of the week, I swear! Oh, no."_

_ "David!" I turn around and find Richard walking out on the dock. "What do you think you're doing?"_

_ Brushing his black hair out of his face, David holds up a hand in surrender. "Look, dad, hear me out. I'm twenty-two. I think I can handle a trip to the mainland."_

_ Charles raises an annoyed eyebrow as Richard yanks the young man by his arm and escorts him back to the shore. "Nobody ever told you who his mother was, did they?"_

_ "David?" I ask, watching him and Richard walk back down the dock._

_ "He was Cora's child." Charles shakes his head like it's a joke I don't understand. "You knew nothing about that woman."_

_ I rack my brain for any piece of information that would refute what he's saying, but he very well may be telling the truth. "Even if she was his mother, what does that have to do with anything?"_

_"She was a lunatic. She tried to kill me without provocation. She broke more rules than I could ever hope to break, and you all made excuses for her behavior. You all coddled her and never even contemplated exile. Why is she exempt? That woman is a threat to our way of life. "_

_ I catch the subtle error. "Is?"_

_ Charles smiles. "I'm afraid she isn't quite done with us yet."_

_ I don't know what he thinks he's doing, but I'm no fool. I know she's dead. All of the evidence leads to that logical conclusion. "Goodbye, Charles."_

_ "You believe she's dead."_

_ "That's because she is." I nod at Stephen to take Charles away._

_ Stephen grabs Widmore roughly by the arm and pulls him towards to submarine._

_Over his shoulder, Charles has time for one last comment. "Then why hasn't anyone found a body?"_

* * *

"What do I have in my pocket? You all get one guess, starting with Doug."

The beefy boy with a bad haircut stares up at me with his wide, watery eyes. "Uh . . . a button?"

"Wrong. You—" I point to the student sitting next to him. "What do I have in my pocket?"

"Lint?" he guesses.

"Wrong." One by one the students come up with hilarious responses to my question. A girl named Susie thinks I'm hiding gold nuggets. A boy named Samuel thinks I'm hiding chicken nuggets. I make my way to the middle of the classroom and call on Annie.

"A book?" she guesses, looking hopeful.

"Wrong," I say and turn to Ben. He's already shrunken down in his seat.

"A . . ." His eyes dart from side to side behind his glasses, scoping out the classmates staring at him. "A . . . a ring?"

My heart stops in my chest, fingers frozen in my pocket. Ben's wedding ring dangles in limbo between my thumb and index fingers. I keep his ring with me wherever I go. Sometimes it helps when I begin to feel particularly low, and I didn't feel like making up a story to placate the nosy Initiative, so I keep it tucked away in my pocket.

I stare into the wide blue eyes of the same person who gave me this ring and mumble, "Wrong."

I make my way to the back of the class as the energy slowly drains out of me. My chest fills with an intense sadness. I want Ben to come back. I want to go home to my family.

I want my dead father to stop following me around the classroom.

When I reach Indiana, she slaps a hand on her desk and answers, "An animal!"

Having become accustomed to repeating _wrong, _it takes my brain a moment to process a different response. "_CORRECT!_" I yell, making everyone jump. "Alright, Indiana, what_ type_ of animal is in my pocket?"

At this exact moment, Frogger decides to give himself away. "For the love of all that is green, can you speed things along?" he croaks loudly. "This pocket is unbearable!"

"A tree frog!" Indiana exclaims. "I win! Do I win?"

"Sure. Here, you get to hold Frogger first."

"Hooray!"

Frogger makes one of his famous leaps of faith and suction cups to one of the lenses on Indiana's glasses.

"Okay, class," I announce. "Today's lesson is going to focus on biology. Don't bother getting your textbooks out. Today we're not going to be studying out of a book." The class grows loud with nervous whispers. "Quiet down, guys. I have gifts for you all."

I spent the better part of my week sewing Attack on Titan cloaks for the entire classroom. I made them out of a deep green color and stitched the symbol of the Survey Corps on the back.

The show focused on a medieval kingdom surrounded by an impossibly high wall. The wall was created to keep out the monstrous Titans—a group of giants who lack communication skills and enjoy feasting on humans. The largest Titan in the group was made up entirely of muscles. No skin. Creepy as hell.

And today he'll be educational!

"Everyone grab a cloak and throw it on over your clothes. We're going to hold class outdoors in the field." In the show, the cloaks were worn by soldiers trained in the art of killing the Titans. I've thought up a game we can play in order to learn the muscles of the body and also work in some physical education at the same time. Recess _and _a lecture.

* * *

"The rules are simple. If I tag you, you have to name a muscle I point at." I spin around to show off the costume I made that looks exactly like the skinless muscle body of the Titan. Every muscle from my neck all the way down to my ankles have been carefully etched out onto a jumpsuit. "If you get my question wrong, you have to go sit down. The game ends when I've defeated you all."

Annie and Ben have already taken off, hand in hand, towards the trees. The other students fumble around, unsure of what to do. I leap towards them, and they scatter like bugs.

"You can run," I yell, "but you can't hide!"

* * *

"Have a good weekend." I hug Joanna and ruffle her hair before she walks out the door. "Have a good weekend, guys."

"Bye, Miss Collins," Annie chirps happily, and I lean down to hug her.

Ben hurries past me before I can even attempt a farewell.

"Can I keep Frogger?" Indiana asks on her way out.

I smile at the fact that Frogger is still attached to her glasses. "Make sure to give him a bowl of water to swim in, and he's all yours."

I hug the last of the students goodbye and lock up the classroom. On my way back to Sawyer and Juliet's house, I run into Lydia. Dark black oil streaks stain the side of her face. She raises her eyebrows when she sees me.

"Hey," she says.

"Motor pool, huh? Didn't really take you for a car kind of girl."

Lydia shrugs. "Yeah, they just sort of stuck me there. Where are you headed? You want to go get some lunch?"

Richard's message from Jacob replays in my head. I don't have much time to explain things to Sawyer before I have to leave for the beach. "Love to, but I'm actually on my way home right now. I've got a lot to do. Lots of, uh, papers to grade and . . . you know. But I'll catch you later, okay?"

Lydia salutes me and continues towards to cafeteria.

"LaFleur?" I call when I reach his house. "Hello?"

"He's at the station," Juliet calls from the couch. "Left about an hour ago with Miles. Said it was urgent."

"How're you doing?" I ask her.

She shrugs.

"How's the baby?"

Juliet's blonde brows scrunch together. "I just don't understand. By all accounts . . . I should be dead by now." She rubs a hand over her eyes.

"You look tired. You should take a nap."

To my great surprise, she chuckles.

"When was the last time you had an ultrasound?" I ask.

"The first week we got here. They said it was protocol. The baby . . . she's perfectly fine."

"She?" A wide smile tugs across my face. "Do you have a name picked out yet?"

Juliet pulls her lips up on one side in a defiant grin. "Rachel."

"After your sister."

This knowledge surprises Juliet, and I wonder if she ever told me about her sister. Oh well. Too late now. "Yes," says Juliet.

"Are you excited?"

"I want to be." One of her hands finds the roundness of her stomach and smooths it. "I didn't even get to tell him."

I'm about to ask _who, _but thankfully I stop myself before the word can escape my lips.

Since Goodwin wasn't sent to the tail section, he wasn't killed off by Ana Lucia. He lived a few weeks longer in this reality than he did in the show. I guess those few weeks were all that was needed to screw up more of this confusing plot.

Juliet is very good at hiding pain. I should know, since I spent the majority of my youth under the hard shell of false indifference. The mask she wears to fool people into thinking she's fine doesn't fool me.

I take a seat next to her on the couch.

"What is it that you wanted to tell James?" asks Juliet.

"He lets you call him James?" I fold my arms across my chest. "He jumps on my case when I call him Sawyer."

"Pregnancy perks," Juliet jokes. "I also get all the ice cream I want."

Relaxed at the sight of her smile, I sink back against the couch and sigh. "I need you to tell James I'll be gone this whole weekend."

"Is there something wrong?"

"I don't know. Jacob wants to talk to me. It could literally be anything."

"I'll pack you a backpack." Juliet hoists herself out of her seat and makes for the kitchen. "You want peanut butter and jelly? We got some really good blackberry jelly on the last submarine shipment."

"I'm planning on leaving at sundown. It'll make it easier to sneak around security cameras."

Juliet closes the fridge. "I'm not sure James will like that very much. He hates it when you leave at night. Stays up worrying about you. I can hear him."

"What?" I sigh, throwing an arm over my face. "Why does he feel the need to protect me?"

"Because you remind him of his daughter." The realization of her admission slowly registers. "Please don't mention I told you. He admitted it in the strictest of confidence. I'm not even entirely sure he meant to confide in me."

_If what she says is true, it would account for most of Sawyer's confusing behavior—his almost immediate interest in my safety the day we crashed on this island, his less-than-offensive comments towards me when by all accounts I should be his easiest target for ridicule, his constant need to give me paternal advice, and his genuine concern for my physical and mental wellbeing._

_ I am making up for the daughter he was too selfish to raise in the real world._

"We should form a club," I mumble. "We can call ourselves _Team Daddy Issues."_

"I can hear you," my father grumbles from the doorway.

"Good," I snap back.

"What's good?" Juliet asks.

"Nothing," I say. "But I think I'll take you up on that sandwich."

* * *

"How are classes going?"

"Fabulous." I finish strapping David into the baby carrier Ellie helped me make and hike the straps up on my shoulders. "The kids are all really sweet. And making lesson plans are a lot more fun that I anticipated. What have I missed?"

"David is learning to crawl."

I spin around. "What?"

"Well," Richard clarifies, "he's not exactly there yet, but he can roll himself over."

I watch as David gurgles and blows raspberries, and my stomach begins to sink. I'm going to miss it. I'm going to miss his first word and his first steps. I'm going to miss everything, and I don't know how to prevent that.

* * *

I sit on the farthest toe of the four-toed statue, gazing out at the ocean. David squirms in my lap until I let Jacob take him.

Jacob holds out a knuckle for David to teethe on. "He's getting big."

"Don't remind me."

"I hear you're having trouble keeping your animals safe."

"Yeah," I sigh. "Dharma seems to think it's a free for all. They keep capturing animals, and I . . . I don't even want to think about what they're doing to them. So, what's this job Richard mentioned?"

Jacob bounces David on his knee. "How would you like to take over as the Temple's new guardian?"

I raise a suspicious eyebrow. "That depends on what happened to the old guardian."

Jacob smiles. "Died at the comfortable age of eighty-seven. Peacefully in his sleep, I might add."

"What would I have to do? I'm sort of obligated to teach at Dharma now."

"There would be a new Keeper of the Temple who would permanently stay to protect the people and relics there. You would help keep the peace. Make final security decisions. Keep the Dharma away from the sanctuary."

"I think I can do that."

"Good," says Jacob and hands David back to me. "I suggest you move all animals who wish for protection to the Temple immediately. They will be safe behind the walls."

"Okay."

Jacob silently studies me for a moment. "How good are you with a bow and arrow?"

* * *

I hold the expertly carved bow in my hands and marvel at the intricate designs etched all along the wood. It's the most beautiful bow I've ever seen in my life.

It's also not the first time I've seen it. This is the bow that was in my wardrobe back before I time traveled. Back when things still made a moderate amount of sense. I pluck the bowstring.

"Here." Richard dumps a pile of sticks next to me at my spot near the campfire. "Will this be enough for now?"

I have no idea how to make arrows, but I'll need to learn if I plan on making them my main source of defense. "I should hope so. Take a seat," I say, patting the log next to me. "I have a feeling we're going to be here awhile."

* * *

I yawn so hard my eyes water. Traveling back and forth from camp to the Barracks is starting to wear me out. Richard suggested I cut down my visits to every other day, but I refuse to lose any extra time I can get with David. I rub at my tired eyes and smile at the class.

"Today's lesson, unfortunately, will focus on math." I point to the board where I wrote _Algebra Equations—Solving for X Y and ZZZZzzzzz._ "I added in the extra _Z_'s because this crap is about to put you to sleep."

Thankfully, the class laughs.

"Now I know this level of math can seem scary at first, but I expect excellence from each and every one of you. You are all capable of learning these lessons if you apply yourself. My job is to make sure you continue to strive for—"

A knock on the classroom door interrupts me. I open it to reveal Horace. "Hey, man. Just coming to check up on you. How's everything going? Hello class!"

"Hello Mr. Goodspeed," the class echoes.

"Hello, Horace," I say, stepping aside so he can walk in. "You want me to pull you up a chair?"

"Nah," he says, waving away my offer. "I'm just here to sit in on a class. You're not in trouble or anything. I'm just required to, you know, make sure everyone's doing their job. Just pretend I'm not even here."

"Of course," I agree, quickly erasing the extra _Z_'s I wrote on the board. My palms have already begun to sweat. I like this job, and I don't want to lose it. With the cheeriest smile I can muster, I say, "Okay, class, who wants to solve the first problem?"

There's a moment of still silence, and then Annie's hand shoots up.

_Blessed girl. _"Annie, thank you for volunteering. Come on up."

* * *

On my way back to Sawyer's house, I stumble upon an academic mugging.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yell. Doug and his friends bolt off when I stomp my way over. Papers flutter down to the soggy grass, quickly soaking up water and smearing the pencil marks.

"Teacher's pet," I hear one of them laugh as they disappear into the courtyard.

"Miss Collins," Annie says on the verge of tears, "Doug stole my homework. He took it out of my binder. And—"

"It's okay, sweetheart," I soothe. "I know you do your homework."

"Miss Collins, he stole Ben's, too."

Ben kneels in the damp grass, frantically trying to grab all of the papers Doug ripped out of his folder. I kneel down beside him and begin gathering handfuls of soggy homework and quizzes.

"This isn't the first time this has happened, has it?" I ask. When Ben doesn't answer, I repeat the question.

"No," he squeaks out, and finally raises his eyes to look at me.

"You two won't have to worry about Doug anymore," I say. "I'm going to have a little chat with him later today."

"No," Ben exclaims randomly. "He . . . he'll only bully us more."

I smile at him, and his eyes dart back to the ground. "I have my ways. Now, you two better get on home. It's getting dark, and I'm sure your parents will want you home for dinner soon."

Annie beams. "Thank you, Miss Collins." She gathers the last of her school supplies and heads home.

Ben stays seated in the grass. I debate whether or not to leave when he looks up and whispers, "I knew you'd come back." A smile spreads across his normally frightened face. "Are you here to take me with you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you here to take me back to your people? I've been waiting. I've been patient."

_Huh? _

"You've met him before," my father explains. "Remember? When you were time traveling? That was a year or two ago."

_Right. I made a promise, didn't I? But I can't take him with me. Not now. _"Not yet," I answer after a pause, and Ben's face falls. "There are still some things I need to do first."

Disappointment floods his face. "Oh."

I watch him clutch his papers to his chest and hurry away to his house.

* * *

I had Richard take David to the Temple. I feel safer knowing that if—God forbid—the Initiative ever tried to attack the Others camp, at least David wouldn't be there. The hike back to the Temple is peaceful up until my father opens his mouth.

"Aren't you ever going to ask me how I died?"

I spin around with exaggerated cheer and ask, "So, dad, how did you die?"

He frowns at my smile. "You have serious problems, kid."

I spin back around and immediately drop the smile. "I have you to thank for that, asshole."

"The hell did you just say?"

The tone of his voice makes me break out in nervous sweat. I've heard that tone all my life, and even after a year of being across the country from him, it still has the power to strangle me with fear. "I said—" I turn around to face him "—You're an asshole." He steps right up to my face, but I only laugh nervously. "What are you going to do? Hit me? You can't touch anything. You're as useless dead as you were alive. What the hell are you even doing here, anyway?"

Isabella starts to explain.

"What is she saying?"

"Italian and Spanish are roughly seventy percent similar," my father scowls. "Just pay attention and you'd know what she's saying."

I try to understand her, but even though I can pick up pieces of words, the same word in Spanish sounds different to me in Italian, and I just end up more pissed off than I was before. "Can you just translate, please?"

"She says it has something to do with unfinished business."

"Unfinished business?"

"Yeah," he continues. "Says that spirits are trapped here until their unfinished business gets resolved. Says that you have to—" He stops suddenly and falls silent, even though Isabella keeps explaining.

"What?" I prod. "What do I have to do?"

My father's mouth opens and closes without a response.

"What?" I yell.

"She says I cannot leave here until you forgive me."

For a long time, I cannot find the words I need to sufficiently portray my feelings.

A crude version comes out instead. "Kiss my ass." I smack away a vine as I tromp to the Temple.

"Cora—"

"Seriously," I say in a deadly tone, "screw you, dad."

He drifts along beside me. "Cora, would you just listen to reason?"

"_YOU RUINED MY LIFE!_"

The chattering birds in the branch above us fall silent.

"_You ruined my life!_ Do you even realize that? No. No, you don't! I can't do _anything_ without the memory of you screwing everything up! You made me _weak!_ You made me _paranoid! _I had _depression _because of you! I had to learn how to socialize with people like a normal human being because I was so worried I'd befriend someone like you that I chose instead to live completely alone! And you have the _audacity_ to ask for my forgiveness?"

"We'll both get what we want," he pleads. "I'll get off this island, and you'll be rid of me. See? Win win."

"I hate you," I seethe through clenched teeth. "I hate you, you son of a bitch, and I would rather burn in Hell for all eternity than forgive you for what you did to me."

As I turn to escape behind the sanctuary of the Temple walls, I catch the disappointed look on Isabella's face.

"You think you've got everything figured out, right?" my father spits out. "You think you know me? You don't know a damn thing."

"And guess what? I don't care to rectify that, dad! I don't give a shit about you!"

"Cora," he says, and he sounds incredibly tired. "Can you please just do this one thing? I'm sorry I wasn't the father I should have been. I'm sorry, okay? Can you just forgive me and let me go?"

"You made my life a living Hell."

"I made your life a living Hell?" he spits out. "Everything I did was to try and protect you, you ungrateful little shit! I moved across the country for you and your mother! I got a shitty back-breaking construction job to support your lazy ass! This is the thanks I get?"

"Wow!" I exclaim furiously. "Thanks, Dad! I'm so happy to have such a loving and caring father as you!" I feel like my skull is about to explode when my father begins to snicker. "You think this is funny?" I scream. "You think being the worst father of all time is _funny_?"

"Your ignorance is amusing, not necessarily funny. We never told you. Your mother wouldn't let me."

"Never told me what?" I snarl.

He gazes off into the darkness with one last shake of his head. "You're not my daughter."


	35. All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues

A fierce rain pummels out of the sky without any warning. I stay perfectly still as my hair soaks clean through. I cannot move. I cannot process the words that were just exchanged between us.

"You're lying." I'm fully prepared to fight him on this one, but for once in his life he doesn't seem to be in the mood for a quarrel. "Where are you going?" I ask his retreating form. "Hey! Stop!"

But it is no use.

The dead do as they please.

* * *

"Should I bother asking what's wrong?"

I bring a finger up to my lips. "Shh. You'll wake David."

Charlie gives me a look. "Don't change the subject."

"Okay," I answer. "No. You shouldn't bother asking what's wrong."

"Is it something that happened in hippie village?"

"Charlie, I literally just said don't bother asking."

Charlie stands in the doorway of my bedroom. It's the same bedroom I stayed in when I first visited the Temple in present day. The only difference is that I don't have wardrobes full of cool clothes, weapons gathered in the corner, or a maid at my beck and call. I watch his figure flicker in the torchlight and cast shadows on my wall.

"So, how is life in hippie village?" he asks. "You never update me anymore."

I'm not in a chatty mood, thanks to my father's revelation. That's not Charlie's fault, but I take it out on him anyway. By the time he finally decides to leave, I feel like scum. David continues to slumber on my chest as I stare up at the ceiling.

_I've never looked like anyone in the family. A very little like my mother, but barely. I never questioned it. Not once._

I listen to David's soft snore, but it doesn't lull me to sleep like it usually does. My mind is a whirlwind.

Why would my father tell me he's not my father? _Was he lying? Was he just trying to get me all worked up? But why? Why say something so specific, unless it was true?_

Soft scraping of wood on stone, and my door opens. "Is he asleep yet?" Richard whispers into the darkness.

"Yes," I whisper back. "Where have you been?"

"Jacob had a job for me."

"Oh? Who was it this time?"

Richard carefully climbs into bed beside me. "Man named John Locke."

"_What?_" David shifts on my chest, and I tense, but he does not awaken.

"He's not bald yet," Richard comments with a grin. "But other than that he looks almost the same as the day he waltzed into camp to take care of Jughead."

"What does Jacob want with him?"

Richard rests his head on the pillow to my left, his dark lashes fluttering in the torchlight. "I don't know. I just know he wants him here."

"Richard?"

"Yes?"

"What do you know about Hydra Island?"

His dark eyes narrow in thought. "I haven't been to that island since the Initiative built their station. I used to take a canoe to shore and hike there. Why?"

"Do you have a map of it?"

"I could probably get one for you if you need it. Are you planning on paying them a visit?"

I rest a hand on the back of David's head and smooth out the tufts of silky fluff. "Yes. I'd like to know exactly what it is that they're doing."

* * *

I whittle my way into Juliet's life, little by little, until she has no choice but to accept shared hammock naps and spontaneous card games and random gifts of chocolate chip pancakes. We talk about nothing and everything. I learn about her past life and aspirations for the future. I study her sense of humor and adapt to what makes her laugh.

I find that if she is happy, I am happy.

"Did Horace ever give you an assignment?" I run my fingers through her golden hair and fold strands into a loose braid. "After you have your baby, how long do you think you can get away with being a freeloader?"

Juliet swivels her arm around and elbows me in the knee.

"I'm serious!" I laugh. "All you do is clean out our cupboards and clog the toilet." I dance away from her swatting hand, and the two of us fold up into laughter. "Have you ever noticed we braid our hair way too often? This is not the Middle Ages. We shouldn't have to play hairdresser to keep from dying of boredom. I feel like a pair of old ladies."

"We should start a knitting circle," Juliet suggests. "Make the transformation complete."

"You laugh, but that's actually not a bad idea."

"When did you two get so close?" Sawyer leans up against the nearest tree and smiles at the two of us.

"We've braided each other's hair and made each other sandwiches," I answer. "It's practically a marriage."

"Well, Thelma, I wouldn't want to be a third wheel."

Juliet pats the grass beside her. "Stay with us, James."

Sawyer reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. "Aw, I—"

"Are you off work?" she asks.

He tosses a thumb back at the security office. "Just got off."

"Then sit with us."

Whether it's because she's pregnant, or just because she has a special charm, none of us seem to be able to say no to Juliet. Sawyer quickly relents and takes a seat next to her in the grass.

"How was work?" she asks, turning away from me.

I take this as my cue to leave.

I wander through the Barracks and try to ignore the snickering coming from all directions. Sitting at a lunch table close to the cafeteria, a group of men in dark blue jumpsuits stare at me as I walk past. Afraid I'll end up kneeing one of them in the groin, I decide to go for a walk out in the field that leads to the fence. It isn't long before I'm pulled out of my daydreams.

"Miss Collins?"

I blink away a million thoughts and turn towards the voice. "Oh, hello Annie. Ben. What are you two doing?"

Annie waves me over and points at a picture of the solar system. "We're reading about space."

"Oh? Mind if I take a look?" I sit on the grass and place the book in my lap. It's one of those larger-than-average hardcover science books for young readers. I scan over the colorfully illustrated page they're on. "Neptune, hm?"

Annie sits up straight and recites, "It's second farthest from the sun!"

"Second farthest?" I frown and flip the page. "Wait . . . Pluto's a planet. _Pluto's still a planet!_"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

I can't help but laugh. "Back home it wasn't considered a planet anymore."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but back home was weird. What do they know?"

"What's your home like?" Ben chips in.

"Weird," I repeat, handing the book back to Annie. "People back home practically speak in an alien language."

Annie tilts her head to the side. "Alien language? What do you mean?"

I lay back against the grass and start spouting off Internet troll jargon into the sky. "Shots fired! Get rekt, scrub! I straight up no scoped that noob. 420 blaze it, homie. SMOKE WEED EVERYDAY!"

A shadow passes overhead and shades the sun from my view. I squint and see red hair as deep as Annie's. "You must be Miss Collins," the man says.

I scramble up off my back and kneel down in the grass. "Yeah. Hi."

"Daddy!" Annie practically screams and leaps up from her seat in the grass to give him a hug. "I didn't think you'd make it."

"How could I miss my own daughter's birthday?" he asks, feigning horror.

_Oh, no. _I blanch with embarrassment for not even knowing how old Annie is today. I haven't even wished her a happy birthday yet.

"Daddy, this is my new teacher."

I hold out a hand for him to shake and read the last name stitched onto his lab coat. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Freeman."

"The pleasure is all mine," he says cheerfully. "And please, call me Stephen. Annie has told me all about you. It isn't often that they let me leave my work, but I make time to check on my girl every now and then. I'm sure she's been on her best behavior."

"You work on Hydra Island?" I ask, perking up.

"I do."

"I've always wanted to see it for myself."

"You should sign up for a tour," he suggests. "They happen once a month."

"Really?"

"You should ask Horace. He's in charge of the paperwork." With Annie still wrapped up in his arms, Dr. Freeman nods to me and starts to head home. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Collins. Be sure to alert me if my daughter ever tries to create explosives in class or organizes a rebellion."

Annie giggles into his shirt.

When the two of them disappear from sight, Ben lifts the science book and pulls it into his lap. "She forgot her book."

"It's not as if you won't see her tomorrow." I say it jokingly, but Ben seems to have taken it as chastisement. He shrinks up, pulling the book close like a shield. _Backpedal. Backpedal. _"It's a nice book."

"I got it for her birthday."

"Well, that was nice of you." I clear my throat, trying to make an excuse for not getting her anything. I decide to quote Ben himself. "I don't believe in birthdays. I believe in unbirthdays."

Ben's nose scrunches up in confusion, and his glasses practically fall off his face.

"Have you ever read _Alice in Wonderland?_"

He shakes his head no.

"I think I have a copy of it somewhere. Anyway, there's a character in it that celebrates all the days of the year that it _isn't _your birthday. What do you think about that? Why celebrate life one day a year when you can celebrate it 364 days a year?"

A small smile tugs at his lips. "That sounds like fun."

My stomach growls, and I realize how low the sun is in the sky. "Ben, what are you having for dinner?"

His boney shoulders pull up and then flop back down in a sheepish shrug.

"I'm about to go make some vegetarian lasagna," I say. "You're more than welcome to join me."

"I . . ." Ben looks warily towards the Barracks.

"I can ask for your father's permission, if that's what you're worried about."

"I don't know," he mumbles. "I don't think it's a good idea."

I understand his reservation. There was once a time when I rejected most party invitations because I was too afraid to ask my father's permission to attend. "Come on," I say cheerfully. "The worst he can say is no."

* * *

I was wrong.

The worst thing Roger Linus could have said was yes.

Having to sit across the kitchen table from him has made my stomach break out in a mad frenzy for food. I shouldn't be this hungry. I've been working so hard on not making food a reward for being stressed out, and now Roger has to go and ruin it all.

I look over at Ben and watch him scarf down the dinner I made. _Poor little thing. When was the last time he had an actual meal?_ With every forkful of noodles and sauce Ben shovels in his mouth, the strangest sensation washes over me. I'm no longer hungry. Watching him eat has satisfied the need to gorge myself.

I place my fork down against my plate and wipe my mouth with a napkin. "Please, have some more," I insist, plopping another helping of lasagna on Ben's plate.

"I'll have some more," says Roger.

I shove the dish in his direction. It slides across the table and stops right in front of him. He frowns.

"Look at you, Miss Popular."

I jolt up at the sound of the familiar voice. I almost choke out, "Dad?" But then I see him standing over by the sink. He steps up behind Roger's seat and scowls down at him.

"Is there one middle-aged man on this damn island who _doesn't_ want to sleep with you?"

I push back in my seat, scrapping the legs loudly against the cheap linoleum flooring. "Would you excuse me?" I ask a startled Ben and Roger. "I have to go check on something. I'll be right back." As soon as I shut Sawyer's bedroom door behind me, I turn to face my father. "What are you doing?"

"Talking to you, apparently."

"You've been gone for days. Where the hell have you been?"

"Okay, so I've been thinking."

"Yeah?"

"And . . . and you're right." His whole body seems to sag. "You're right. I was a shitty father, and I'm sorry."

I feel my right eye twitch. "That's it? You leave for days on end and that's all you can come up with? You still haven't even told me who my real father is."

A bitter edge has returned to his voice. "What do you want from me, Cora?"

"You want to be useful? You want to win my forgiveness?" I open the bedroom door and make for the hallway. "Help me break into Hydra Island."

* * *

I never knew I have a problem with seasickness until I was out at sea. I stand gripping tightly to the side of the boat, leaning over the railing in case I vomit, which could very well be any second now.

I'm all too pleased when we run ashore and shake hands with the doctor giving us the tour. I'm in a group of five other curious members. Dr. Freeman, Annie's father, starts by taking us on a tour of the island itself. I scope out the different pathways and rock formations and exits and entrances to all of the buildings and infrastructures.

I wish I had a map.

"This is where we conduct experiments on the cognitive functions of the brain." Dr. Freeman leads us into a laboratory, and my blood instantly runs cold. A million animal voices scream over one another, each emitting a frantic cry for help. Chimps lay dormant in metal cages, already haven given up the fight. A large bird rattles its cage and tries to bite the nearest scientist. My eyes land on a mother fox, screeching for her babies. She claws frantically at her glass cage, begging for her children back. I catch sight of a scientist holding one of the fox pups and all I can think about is Todd. When the man in the lab coat sticks the pup with a needle, I completely lose my shit.

I end up being escorted out of the facility by security members. Dr. Freeman finds me outside and pulls me aside to calmly explain that all of the animals are treated with respect and are not exposed to prolonged experiments that induce pain.

I'm so worked up I don't even hear half of what he says.

"Calm down," my father warns. "You let them think you're crazy now, and they'll suspect you later when you conduct your little jailbreak."

And he's right. So I close my eyes and steady my breathing as I force a smile and apologize.

"Annie has asked me numerous questions about the welfare of our experiments. I understand your concern." Dr. Freeman smiles. "Ready to finish the rest of the tour?"

* * *

Richard hasn't even asked me what's wrong before I hide my face in his shirt and begin to cry. I cannot escape the desperate pleas for help, pushing against my skull from all sides. Deep voices, shrill voices, some more desperate than others, but all of them begging. _Let me out. _

"What do you want us to do?" he asks after I explain what I saw. "I can send someone over to—"

"No," I interrupt, taking a step back. "I won't turn this into a war. I can't break the truce. I can't jeopardize our safety like that."

Charlie hurries into my room, agitated. "When did you get back? Nobody ever tells me a bloody thing." His expression softens at my tears. "What's wrong?" When I tell him about my visit, his face sets in a determined frown. "When do we leave?"

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "You're not coming with me, Charlie."

"Sure thing, ma."

"I'm going alone," I say. "If I keep up this island deity disguise, I won't have to worry about anyone suspecting me, or any of my friends from the Initiative, or any of you. If the Initiative tries to accuse you of breaking the truce, you can tell them I'm not affiliated with you. You can blame it on . . . I don't know, island magic, or something."

"You have a serious hero complex, love, and I for one don't think you should allow it to get yourself killed." Charlie throws up his hands in exasperation. "At _least_ take Richard with you, Cora. No more lone wolf suicide missions to the ends of the earth and back. We're supposed to be your best mates. _Ask us for help!_" Charlie sighs when I reach up to pull him into an embrace.

Charlie genuinely cares about me, and he's not the only one. I used to think what made a good friendship was someone who was simply willing to put up with me, but I've never had friends quite like the ones I've met on this island. We take care of each other and openly care about one another more than my own flesh and blood ever did, and I am overwhelmed with just how thankful I am to have him in my life.

Charlie wants to protect me, but, more than anything, I want to protect him. I would rather die a thousand gruesome deaths than be responsible for one more person's demise.

"I know I've made a lot of . . . rash decisions in the past," I muffle into his shirt, "but I've seen everything there is to see—entrances, exits, pathways that lead back to the beach. I can retrieve animals faster if I go alone. I can do this, Charlie. But when the time comes that I _do_ need help . . . " I lean away from his just enough to grasp his face in my hands and smile my gratitude. "I'll be sure to ask you for it."

"I would prefer you take someone with you," Richard affirms. "Do you at least have a map of their building layouts?"

I lock eyes with my father standing alongside Richard, and he nods in affirmation. "I have a map," I lie. "What I need you to get me is a canoe."

* * *

"There are two men at the end of this path. Keep quiet."

I crouch down low and hide behind the wide tree stump. There is an unsettling silence on this island. No wild animals talk to one another in the dark. The only sounds come from a few night bugs surviving off the lack of birds in the area. I can barely see a thing in this darkness, thanks to the small sliver of moon lighting the way. Thankfully, I have something _better_ than moonlight. I have a dead father.

Well, that came out weird.

"Go," my father orders. "Keep running until you reach a fence. There's only two guards patrolling the area, and they're both out of range at the moment. You're in the clear."

My eyes are the only visible body part on my entire being. I shift the wrap to adjust my vision and charge forward into the darkness. I reach the fence and wait for new orders.

"The doors to the lab are clear, but you need a passcode to get in. Hold on while I try to find out what it is." Disappearing into the trees, my father returns with a triumphant smirk. "Follow this path down to the doors. Password is 13720."

I make a break for it, heart pounding furiously in my chest. Every inch of my body pulses with nerves. If I get caught, I'm screwed. So much is riding on my safe return home, and I'm not even sure what I plan to do once I get into the laboratory. _Even if I free the animals, what would I do with them? How would I get them back to the mainland?_

Flattening myself against the laboratory door, I take a quick glance around and punch the numbers into the keypad. The door clicks, and I push it open to reveal a cold, metal wasteland. Everything is sterile and medicinal. The regular lighting is dimmed to help the animals sleep, and I'm forced to move around the room slowly so I don't bump into anything and wake people up.

"Where are you keeping them?" A furious voice demands. "Where are you keeping them, human?"

I spin around to find a fox staring at me from behind glass. "What?"

Her sharp teeth glisten in the poor lamplight as she growls at me. "Where are my babies?"

I walk closer to her cage and squat down. "I'm here to rescue you," I tell her. "You and your babies."

"_Where are they?_"

"I don't know," I admit. "I was hoping you could tell me."

My dad eyes me curiously. "What does the fox say?"

"Help me find her pups. They're not in her cage, but they must be nearby. I saw them in this room earlier today."

"Over here."

I walk over to a metal cage in the corner and throw a hand over my mouth. All three of the pups lie limp and responseless. I gently lift one up and check for a heartbeat. I feel one. They've been sedated.

Suddenly my father stiffens. "Oh, shit. Get up, get up! Someone's coming! We need to get out of here!"

"Wait," I panic, looking back at the mother fox.

"We don't have time for her! You have about thirty seconds before someone finds you. Get out the door!"

I tuck the three tiny fox pups in my dress and bolt for the door. Cold night air makes the goosebumps on my arms intensify until I'm shivering with adrenaline.

"Hold it," my father orders. "Change of plans. We have to go the long way around. The security team is making their rounds on the far side of the jungle. Go this way."

I follow him deep into the jungle, the small forms of the foxes warm against my chest.

"Stop. Stop!"

I halt and crouch down in the dirt at the sound of a voice. When I have the chance to get a closer look, I groan internally. Dr. Freeman and a man in a regular jumpsuit stand in front of one of the polar bear cages that I was thrown in during my trial. The two of them wave their arms at the polar bear sleeping inside the cage.

"Second day that he won't eat," says Dr. Freeman. "I want you to begin injections tomorrow at the scheduled breakfast time. It should wake up his metabolism and get him eating again. We can't afford to lose another bear."

"Dad?" I whisper.

"What?"

"Are they the only two people within earshot?"

"These are the only two people within half a mile. If you're quiet, you can just go around—hey, what are you doing? Cora!"

I dart out into the open. It takes a few seconds for the men to notice me, but when they do, they both fall silent.

Dr. Freeman pales, which only serves to make his red hair look even redder. "Okay, just . . . just hold on." He raises his hands out protectively and takes a small step backwards.

"Is that the thing who killed Olivia?" the man in the jumpsuit whispers to Dr. Freeman.

I hold out a hand and wiggle my fingers. When neither of them move, I point to the cage.

"I think she wants the key," the man in the jump suit offers.

"Here," says Dr. Freeman, and he tosses the keys to me in a high arch.

I catch them before they hit the ground and walk closer to the cage, stopping short when I realize something. _I have to explain what's going on to this polar bear, but I can't risk letting these men hear my voice. Dr. Freeman has already heard my voice, and he might recognize it if he hears me speak now. It's too risky. _

"What are you waiting for?" my father prods. "They have video cameras pointed at this place! Hurry up before someone sounds the alarm!"

In my head I say an apology to both of the men, and then I knock them unconscious.

"Wake up," I tell the bear. "Hey, wake up."

"What do you want?" the bear groans. "It's not even morning yet. Can't you people just leave me alone?"

"I'm not a scientist," I tell him, and he lifts his head up. "I'm here to rescue you."

"What do you mean you're here to rescue me? What's the catch?"

"No catch, but I need you to hurry. The people that keep you in this cage are coming. We don't have much time."

The bear snorts and rests his head back down on his massive white paws. "Why should I believe a human?"

I jam the key into the lock and pull it open. "Have you ever met a human who could understand your language? Listen, I can get you out of here. I can get you away from these experiments to somewhere safe. Will you come with me, or should I close the door?"

"If you really are here to rescue me, then rescue my wife, too."

"Where is she?"

The polar bear stands up on his hind legs, towering above me, and I start to regret opening the cage. "I do not know. You humans took her away from me. I don't even know if she has given birth to our cub yet."

"Cora," my father begs, "two men are almost here, and they have guns. Forget the bear, and get out of here!"

"Come with me," I tell the bear. "Let me keep you safe, and I promise I will come back for your family."

"I won't leave without them!"

"You have my word. I will return for them. Your wife is safe for now," I explain. "They don't experiment on pregnant bears."

"There she is!" someone yells, and I hear the clank of a bullet ricochet off one of the metal cage bars.

"Run!" I urge the bear, and to my great relief, he gets up and follows me.

"Someone's coming down the left path," my father updates. "Keep going straight and turn right at the fork in the road."

Sirens start to blare in the distance, and I beg my already strained legs to push me faster. If I make it out of this alive, I swear I'm going to start religiously working out again, like I did with Jacob.

We reach the beach, and I shove my canoe into the water, paddling with all my might over the high tide.

A mound of white fur surfaces in the ocean next to me. "You are going too slow," he says. "I will help." The bear disappears into the darkness, and then suddenly the boat lurches forward, and I slide off the seat and land on my back. We are a safe distance from Hydra Island before I notice lights bobbing on their beach. Even if they were to retrieve their boats, we have too much of a head start.

Richard, Eloise, Widmore, Charlie, and a dozen Others are waiting for us when my canoe runs ashore. The bear is less than pleased when he notices the group of strangers. Standing up on his hind legs, the bear lets out a furious roar that roughly translates to, "Get away, or I attack."

"It's okay!" I yell while motioning for everyone to lower their weapons. "It's okay! They're with me!"

"Get them away!" the bear orders. "Get them away from me!"

"They're not scientists!" I explain. "They're here to help you. They're here to help us get your family back. Hurry, we need to hide you before the scientists come looking."

* * *

The polar bear has no name, which seems an inhumane crime to me. I name him Bosco after the Earth Kingdom's bear on Avatar the Last Airbender. Bosco doesn't feel comfortable being alone, and he doesn't trust the people at the Temple, so I stay seated on his back when I enter through the walls. I'm greeted with startled cries and wide eyes. One woman actually drops a vase of water without even realizing it.

It's a difficult task, ridding on the back of a polar bear. I have to dig my fingers into his thick fur to steady myself and keep from sliding off. If I had been one of those spoiled rich kids growing up, I would have at least known the basics of horseback riding. Unfortunately, my inner thigh muscles need some defining, and by the time we enter the Temple, both my legs are screaming. I try to slide off so I can go take a nap, but Bosco huffs dissatisfaction.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

"You're safe now." I wave a hand around to signify the entirety of the Temple. "You don't have to worry about experiments anymore. Feel free to walk around."

"I don't want to walk around," he growls. "I want my wife and cub."

"I know. But we can't retrieve them tonight. Soon, I promise, but not tonight. Follow me. I'll show you where you're sleeping tonight."

* * *

"Are you sure we can trust him?" Brandon asks.

"Almost sure," I answer and shut the door to the room I've designated as Bosco's personal chamber. "He's been through a lot, Brandon. Let him rest." I make my way down one of the long stone hallways and find a seat near a wall of chiseled hieroglyphics.

Brandon sniffs at the slumbering baby foxes in my arms. "When will they wake up?"

I run a finger over one of their little black noses, and the nostril flickers. "I don't know. Soon, hopefully."

"Next time I tell you to run, you run." My father looms over me in the darkness, arms crossed, and a deep frown on his face. "Almost got captured by a bunch of pot smoking lunatics. Don't ever ignore me like that again!"

"Thank you," I say calmly, cradling the foxes in my lap.

All the anger in his voice disappears. "What?"

"Thank you for helping me. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh," he says, slightly surprised. "Well, you're welcome." He stands around for a few minutes before continuing. "I suppose my one good deed was not sufficient enough to warrant your forgiveness?"

I am grateful for my father's help, but he's right. One good deed cannot undo years of pain. However, when I look at him now, I don't feel quite so spiteful. "No," I answer. "But it's a good starting point."

"Lady Cora?" A young woman dressed in a worn cotton dress approaches from out of the dark hallway.

"Yes?"

"I . . . I'm sorry to disturb you. I just . . ." She holds out a shaking hand. "My name is Cecily. _Ohhh_," she coos at the sight of the fox pups, "how precious."

"I'm waiting for them to wake up," I clarify, nodding down at the foxes. "They've been drugged."

"I'm glad you were there to take them out of that horrible place. We think you did a very noble thing," she says shyly. I look behind her and notice that a small group of girls have huddled close. "We were wondering . . . if maybe, I mean, if you wouldn't mind . . ."

"Would you like us to make you a dress?" a girl near the back of the group asks.

"A dress?"

"For you to wear when you go out on missions," Cecily explains. "We could make you a beautiful one. It would look so much better than that sheet you wrap around yourself."

I rest my head back and laugh.

"I didn't mean to insult you," Cecily stutters.

"No, no, it's fine. By all means, please, make me this dress. I would be honored."

The girls huddle even closer together, humming with excitement.

I glance up at my father, but he only rolls his eyes. "Don't look at me," he complains. "I don't know a damn thing about fashion."


	36. The Other Woman

_The party had finally died down, and all was quiet at the Reyes mansion. Except, of course, for the policemen currently escorting Hugo to the police station. Their cries of Miranda Rights have all but woken up the entire nosy neighborhood. Let's just say my attempts at persuading him to return to the island were less than successful, and he chose to turn himself into the police patrolling his house rather than follow me._

_"You didn't get him?" John asks when I return to the hotel._

_"He threw a fully cooked Hot Pocket at my face," I say sharply. "Thankfully, he has shameful aim, so I won't need any skin grafts."_

_"What do we do now?"_

_ "We continue with the plan. I'll have to sort out Hugo's mess tomorrow."_

_ "Ben?"_

_ I look up from my paperwork. "Yes, John?"_

_"You think she's doing okay?"_

_ He doesn't have to clarify whom he's talking about. "I'm positive that she's fine. I told her to stay with Richard."_

_ "You think Richard can protect her?"_

_ "I've known Richard since I was a little boy. He's been my trusted advisor and close friend for the majority of my existence. If there is anyone I trust with Cora's life, it's him."_

_ John nods and takes a sip of his coffee. "Are we going to pick up Sayid today?"_

_ "No." I gather the paperwork and shove it all into a yellow envelope. "Actually, there is something I must attend to first."_

* * *

_I wait outside the little blue house for three and a half hours before I detect movement. A woman emerges from the doorway and strolls down the driveway towards her car. I intercept her with a kind smile._

_"Excuse me, but I'm looking for a Marguerite Collins? Would you happen to know if she lives on this block?"_

_The brunette woman holds a hand on her hip in thought. "No, sorry. Don't know anyone by that name."_

_"Do you happen to know a Collin's family at all?"_

_"What is this about?" the woman asks suspiciously._

_Just then, a little redheaded girl runs out the door. "Phone, mommy!"_

_"Sarah, what did I tell you about picking up the phone?"_

_Sarah. No, that's not one of the names Cora gave me. And the description said nothing of freckles, and absolutely nothing about red hair. I smile again at the woman and begin backing up towards my car. "I must have the wrong address. Sorry to disturb you. Have a nice day."_

_I pull over into an abandoned parking lot and reread Cora's letter. Long, sleepless hours provided me with the translation to the rest of the message. The letter in its entirety reads:_

Ben,

I hope this letter reaches you, but I'm not sure of anything anymore. I started writing this with something to say, but now I've gone and lost all my words. I guess what I want to say is that I'm not mad at you. I was never really mad at you. I am jealous, I'll admit that, but I'm not mad. _She's scribbled out the words _You have a right to your own body _But I can still faintly see the letters. _I just want to let you know that we part as good friends.

Please keep your eye on Locke. He's a good friend, and you'll need him to get back to the island. Be nice to him. He has even less friends than I do. And Ben, I also wanted to tell you that I'm not sure you can trust Sayid. Be cautious around him.

I know you will be busy off island, but can you please look for my family any free chance you get? I have included my address below with a brief description of each of my family members. I don't know if they exist in this world, but I want them to be protected if they do.

I wish we had more time to spend with each other. My heart shall weep until I see you again.

—Cora

_ It's not an "I love you" but it is as close as she is capable of. I give myself ten minutes to miss her, and then I start the car and drive to meet Sayid._

* * *

"Ellie," I announce, raising my hand up in a vote.

I listen to murmurs of agreement as those nearest me raise their hands. She wins in a unanimous victory.

It makes sense. She's been here her whole life. She already knows all of the ins and outs of island law. Her judgments are fair, she's a quick thinker, and she's a nice person. I sure as hell wasn't going to volunteer to take over as leader of the Others. I have enough on my plate already with all this running back and forth between Dharmaville and the Temple and the Others camp offshore. I haven't gotten a full nights sleep in almost two months.

I pat Eloise on the shoulder. "Congratulations. You'll do us all proud." She shoots me a grateful smile before being carted away by a trio of eager well-wishers already giving suggestions.

"You must be rather pleased with yourself."

I turn towards Charles with a raised brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Widmore nods towards Eloise's retreating figure. "Anyone you voted for would have been elected. Your vote caries incredible weight around here. These people respect you."

"Please," I scoff. "They're afraid of me, more like."

"She does seem happy though, doesn't she?"

I steal a curious glance at Widmore. The usual bitter edge in his voice has softened, and it's freaking me out. _The hell? Hold on . . . Charles and Eloise have a kid together, right? Faraday? _I just can't see Charles ever giving two shits about anyone other than himself. But by the foreign stupor in his eyes, I'd say he actually does care, however small, for Ellie. Just as soon as I notice it, it's gone again as if it had never reared its ugly head.

"Shouldn't you be at the Temple by this hour?" Charles snaps, leaving before I can even answer him.

I can't roll my eyes hard enough.

* * *

"Girls," I praise loudly, "It's beautiful."

Cecily and her little group of followers smile so hard it looks painful.

"But I can't wear this out on missions," I continue. "I'll get it all dirty."

"Oh, but you must!" they insist. "We'll wash it for you when you return."

Cecily reaches out and holds up the edging of the white dress. "I did the needlework on the bottom."

I shake out the dress and hold it up against me. "But what will I wear to social events?" I'm joking, but the girls take me seriously and dash out of the room, squabbling at each other with pattern ideas, swinging the heavy wooden door shut behind them.

I've barely had the chance to hang my new dress in a wardrobe when there's a knock at my door. I pull it open and come face to face with an orchid bouquet. "What are these for?"

"I thought maybe you'd like to brighten up your room," Richard's voice comes from behind the large pink blossoms. "Where do you want them?"

"They're lovely. Thank you." I point to a little end table next to my bed. "You can put them over there for now. I don't have a vase."

"How did the election go?" he asks curiously. As he passes me by, I catch a whiff of the perfumed scent of the orchid pollen. My room is going to smell amazing for the next week or so.

"Ellie won," I tell him. "Charles practically accused me of cheating."

"Cheating?"

"He said anyone I voted for would have automatically won. Although, he seemed content with the outcome." I raise an eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to know if anything is going on between them, would you?"

Richard gently lays the flowers down on the table and laughs. "I didn't take you for a gossip girl."

"I'm just trying to look out for Ellie," I defend. "She's a good friend, and I don't want to see her get hurt."

"Eloise is perfectly capable of taking care of herself." I feel a hand on the small of my back. "Would you like to take a walk? It's a nice night out."

"David should really lay down for the night," I say, nonchalantly moving out of Richard's reach.

"Doesn't Charlie have David?"

"Yes."

"And isn't Brandon watching Charlie?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Then David will be fine for now," he counters without missing a beat. "A nice walk will do us both some good."

Richard leads me to the beach in silence. The moon hangs low in the sky—a blinding, milky white. I kick off my shoes and place them neatly under a palm tree near the shore. Barefooted, I make my way towards the waves, enjoying the cool and refreshing sand against my tired feet.

Richard walks beside me as we skirt along the edge of the tide, just out of its reach. "You're uncharacteristically quiet today. What's on your mind?"

_Oh, I don't know. Maybe just the fact that the near future includes me losing my mind, committing genocide, and dying an inconspicuous death. I'll never see my family again because it's a dimensional impossibility. My husband is nine years old. _

_And the spirits of my deceased father and your wife like to follow me around. Yeah, that one is especially fun. _"Nothing," I answer.

Richard clears his throat. "It's a nice night out."

"You've already said that."

"Have I? Sorry."

"Lord almighty," my father exclaims. "This is painful to watch. I actually feel sorry for this poor bastard."

"I bought you some more books for your library," Richard continues. "You now have all of Jane Austen's works."

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to." I feel Richard's arm reach around behind me, and his hand rests high on my hip. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" he asks. "You look upset."

I catch the smirk on my father's face, but I refuse to indulge him. He's wrong. Richard has only ever been professional in both the original show and in whatever the hell universe I'm currently living in. He's just looking out for me, just like I look out for him. It's what friends do. So, just to make it a point that I'm not uncomfortable with his consoling gestures, I make no moves to remove Richard's hand. "Just homesick," I admit.

Richard looks up at the sky, and I follow suit. Stars litter the black void and only serve to make me even more homesick. People say it's a small world, but the universe is anything but small. I wonder if my family is watching the same sky I am right now. I wonder if they even miss me at all.

When he finally speaks again, Richard's voice comes out low and calming. "Do you remember that night we taught each other different languages?"

I glance up at him and immediately look down at my feet, my face tingling with the beginnings of a blush. _Stop being weird. _But I'm not trying to be. Its just he's especially attractive in this lighting. _But so what? The world is full of attractive men. Who cares? "_Yes, I remember."

"You were particularly horrible at conjugations." His fingers gently press into my side. "Not much has changed."

"Oh," I say sarcastically, "well, I'm sorry that I haven't had 100 years to study a language."

Richard laughs as if I'm joking. "Haven't you?"

I roll my eyes. I forgot I never explained the jumping through time adventure, and I'm in no mood to try and explain it all right now. "Sorry, I'm exhausted. Just ignore anything I may say that doesn't make sense."

"You know," he starts in a different tone, "maybe you should think about quitting your job with the Initiative. It's done nothing but drain you ever since you started it."

He's right, but I can't admit that. I like being around Sawyer and Juliet and sometimes even Miles when he isn't particularly sassy. I enjoy teaching. I enjoy making Annie and Ben happy. I like knowing that I'm helping Ben's life become a little less depressing. Even though traveling to and from Dharma every night is wearing me down, I can't find it within my heart to quit. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Richard refutes calmly. "All this missed sleep has affected your attitude, your health . . . just look at your eyes."

"What about my eyes?" I snap defensively.

"They're always puffy and purple." Richard stops and turns in front of me so I'm forced to stop as well. He stares me down until I'm forced to look up at him. "Cora, you need sleep to survive. You can't keep living this double life."

"I'm fine, Richard."

"It's okay to admit that you can't do both."

Anger slowly starts to burn inside me. It takes all my willpower not to yell at him. "I said I'm fine, Richard."

"You could always fake your death."

"_Fake my death?_"

"Make a deal with one of your animal friends and stage it. They could pretend to drag you off into the jungle. That way you'd be free to stay here at camp."

My confusion slowly morphs into an uncomfortable embarrassment. "You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"

"I'm worried about you." As if in defense of his actions, Richard quickly adds, "Charlie is worried, too."

"Charlie doesn't understand," I snap, my voice rising higher and higher with every word. "If he wants to go home . . . all he has to do is leave the island. I can't. It doesn't work that way for me. He doesn't get it. None of you get it." At the mention of home, my throat closes up and my sentence clips off unexpectedly. I cross my arms and spin away from him, towards the ocean, trying desperately to clear this lump in my throat that threatens to undo me.

This isn't fair. None of this is fair. Before I landed on this island, I was hell bent on never getting married. When I was forced to marry Ben, I eventually warmed up to the idea because the more I got to know him, the more I liked him. But I never got the chance to really get to know him. I probably know more about Brandon than I know about Ben. We never even got to go on an actual date, and now my husband is gone, and I'll never see him again. Not the real him. Not the version that I started to fall in love with. I'm stuck with a child version of him, and no matter how strong the urge for intimacy takes over me, no matter how lonely and desperate I become, I can't do anything about it.

And then here comes a perfectly available bachelor who is kind and protective and attractive and interested in me, and I have no say in the matter. I was forced to marry someone else, and no matter how much I originally consented to the idea, I'm slowly starting to resent it.

I never got to choose my husband. I'm honor bound to someone who deserted me. What the hell kind of bargain is that? I am a fool.

"Oh my God," my father muses to himself, leaning towards me, squinting his eyes. "You like this guy."

"Cora, I'm sorry," Richard apologizes. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I want to go home." I've lost the emotional fight. As a last resort, I cover my face with a hand to hide my watery eyes. I'm so homesick I feel physically ill.

Strong arms wrap around my middle and pull me close against his chest. I spin around, but everything I had planned to say is lost in my throat. Our faces are so close that I can see each individual eyelash that make up the dark black lines under Richard's eyes that Sawyer loves to make fun of. Dark stubble shades his chin and unshaven cheeks. Richard still smells faintly of the orchids he brought me, but there is a distinctly male musk hidden underneath that makes my pulse quicken.

I need to leave, but I can't move. "We need to talk," I manage to whisper.

"About?" His lips are so close I could brush them with my own if I move an inch or two.

"Us," I say, taking a small step backwards. "It just . . . it wouldn't work."

The small smile curving his lips drops. "It wouldn't?"

"Richard, I'm married."

"Are you, really?" he questions in an odd tone.

"_Excuse me?_"

"I've know you for a hundred years, and I've never met him. I've never so much as seen a _picture _of this man. You were never pregnant with his child. You don't even wear his wedding ring anymore! What do you expect me to think?"

"I expect you to mind your own damn business," I retort furiously, wishing I could take it back almost immediately. "Listen," I tell him in a kinder voice, "you are a wonderful, wonderful friend. And I'm very happy I know you. But—"

"Where is he?" Richard interrupts.

"What?"

He takes a step towards me. "Where is this husband of yours?" I look down at the sand, but I can't think of a good response. "Is he dead?"

My head shoots up. "No."

"If he's not dead, then where is he?"

"Please, stop." Richard is in the process of asking again when I finally lose it. "He's gone, okay? He's not dead, he's just _gone_!"

"Gone?" he continues. "What does that mean, Cora?"

"He left," I whisper, no longer able to speak properly. "And I don't know where he is."

This time when Richard holds me to his chest, I don't resist. It feels good to cry. It's been a while since I was afforded the opportunity. Being comforted brings me a sense of peace, and I can tell by how good I feel that maybe I should cry every once in a while for stress relief.

"You don't deserve that," Richard muffles into my hair.

I pull back and retreat towards the jungle, away from where Richard stands near the sea. "Goodnight, Richard."

"Cora—" he protests, but I don't let him finish.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to sleep in my room anymore. I haven't had a nightmare in a long time. I should be fine on my own." I pick up my shoes, not even bothering to lace them, and run in the direction of the Temple.

* * *

"I've figured out what your problem is." My father takes a leisurely stroll around my bedroom. "You have a daddy complex."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, please. Your husband is twice your age, and Richard's a damn dinosaur. You don't even spare a passing glance at any of the boys your own age."

I place David in his cradle next to my bed and lie down. "I'm going to sleep now, dad. You can leave me alone."

"Yeah, yeah." My father waves a dismissive hand. "I'm leaving."

A cold, creepy silence falls over my room. It is in these late hours of the night that Richard talks me to sleep, but now there isn't a single sound to ease my insomnia. I curl up on top of the sheets, staring blankly at David's cradle, while I silently regret the events at the beach. I could have handled it so much better than I did, and now I've probably alienated my best friend. _I'll never get to sleep. _Just as I start to lose hope, I dose off.

* * *

I awake with a gasp, dripping in sweat, but not from a nightmare—from a different sort of dream. The type of intense dream I thought I'd start having after I lost my virginity—fervent kisses, nimble fingers working at the hooks of my undergarments, hands brushing up between my legs, over my hips, across my stomach.

All the muscles in my body throb with each pulsing beat of my heart as I try to catch my breath. I roll over and check on David, but he is still fast asleep. Lying back down on my bed, I stare up at the stone ceiling of my bedroom while I try to justify what happened. I stop almost immediately.

I know what my mother would say about this, and it makes my face inflame. I'm only grateful my father honored my wishes and left when he did. God help me if I talk in my sleep.

My dream had nothing to do with my husband and everything to do with the man who usually sleeps beside me.

* * *

"Look what I got." LaFleur holds up an ancient looking video camera and smiles happily. "Only cost me two paychecks!"

"How did you buy that?"

He fiddles with the lens without bothering to read the instructions. "Requested it on the last shipment. Why? You have a request?"

"Actually, could I borrow it?"

LaFleur holds the camera protectively to his chest. "Why?"

It's all I can do not to laugh. "I have an idea that may help me learn more about Hydra Island, but I'll need that camera."

"Alright," he says reluctantly. "Just be careful with it. And don't rewind. I've already filmed some stuff."

* * *

Annie's mother works for the education department and her father is hardly ever home due to his long hours on Hydra Island. It was easy enough to figure out Mrs. Freeman's schedule and set up a visitation date with Annie herself. Ben, as always, was with Annie when I asked if she wanted to film a movie staring her new pet kitten, Rainbow. Needless to say, Annie invited him.

I study the Freeman house when Annie lets me in. Her father may not be here often, but that doesn't mean he hasn't left behind documents. I just need to get Annie and Ben fixated on filming their little kitten adventure, and then I'll be free to snoop through the bedrooms down the hall.

I set the video camera on the coffee table and turn it on.

"Where did you get that?" Annie asks in amazement.

I smile. "Borrowed it from my dad."

"Wow! I've never seen one before."

"Annie," I point towards the camera, "it's on. Go."

"I shall release the beast!" Annie opens the door to a tiny animal carrier, and a furry little kitten comes barreling out. With a quick pounce, the kitten playfully attacks, climbing up Annie's leg. "No, you're supposed to go through the obstacle course! Ouch, Rainbow. That hurts!"

I push stop on the camera and help remove the kitten from Annie's leg. "Okay, you two," I tell both Annie and Ben, "you push this button to film. Got it? Just push it again when you want to stop."

"Okay!" they both say in unison.

"Annie, may I use your restroom?" I ask.

"Of course, Miss Collins." Annie has become so excited at the prospect of being in charge of the camera that she isn't even looking at me. "It's right down the hall."

I search the master bedroom from top to bottom, but the only thing I come up with is a map of Hydra Island, which is virtually worthless to me, thanks to my father. Why memorize a map when I have a human radar on my side?

Disappointed, I pocket the map anyway and rejoin the children.

* * *

The Initiative seem to have discovered another reason to throw a party. A large group of members have gathered around picnic tables full of food. Horace sees me and waves me over.

"Cora!" he exclaims and slaps me on the back. "How's the classroom working out for you?"

"Fantastic," I say. "The kids are all wonderful. Thank you again for the opportunity."

"No problem, man. You were the woman for the job. Please, join us. We were just about to have dinner."

"Oh, no thank you. I'm actually in charge of diner tonight. Juliet's been craving . . ." I glance over the different food dishes to make sure I don't say an item available. "Spaghetti. Thank you, though. Another time."

"Sure thing." Horace bounces away with a good-natured laugh to attend to his latest lady friend—a woman named Amy.

I'm about to continue home when I spot the dessert table and stop dead in my tracks. _No. Leave. Keep walking. _There is every dessert imaginable—Jell-O, cake, brownies, cupcakes, and an assortment of chocolates and hard candies.

I remember Cecily once asking me about chocolate, so I grab a napkin and pile on brownies. _Come on. One won't hurt. _It's been so long since I allowed myself an indulgence. One won't hurt. I take a bite and my eyes roll back. It's the most delicious brownie I've ever eaten.

* * *

With a newfound spring in my step, I inhale the afternoon air. I'm on my way back to the Temple when I hear something that makes me freeze. A few feet out, somewhere within the trees, I hear the sound of my own voice.

I drop to the floor like a sack of bricks, accidently dropping the remaining brownies in the dirt. I shove another one in my mouth while resisting the urge to giggle. Food is supposed to make you feel full, but every brownie I eat makes me hungrier.

Richard's voice makes me tense up and momentarily forget the brownies. A few feet away, Richard kneels down next to someone collapsed on the floor. The view of him from my hiding spot is fantastic, and I have to old a hand over my mouth to keep from giving myself away.

My mouth falls open in shock when Richard stands, hoisting my body up into his arms. Only, it's not _my _body. I'm still lying on the ground. But at the same time it _is _my body, because the woman he's cradling is _me_. My hair, my body, my face. Everything about her looks identical to me. And he's running away with her—me.

I stumble to my feet and try to follow him, but I smack into a tree and fall down, laughing hysterically. It is ages before I finally find my way back to the Temple.

"Cora?"

I spin around with a wide smile. "Richard?"

He clasps my shoulders to steady me. "What are you doing? Why did you run away?"

"What?" I ask.

"I went to fill your canteen, and you ran away. You were just shot, for God's sake. What's wrong with you?"

I sway on my feet, and Richard has to practically drag me into the Temple.

* * *

I wake up in my bedroom.

Charlie puts a finger to his lips when I sit up on my bed. "I just put the little booger down for a nap," he whispers, pointing to David's cradle. "Don't wake him up."

I blink in confusion. I don't remember going to the Temple.

"That," my father announces with a pained look on his face, "was one of the more uncomfortable situations I've found myself in."

"What are you—" I stop myself when Charlie looks up. "Uh, Charlie? Thank you very much for putting David to sleep. Would you mind giving me some privacy?"

"You okay?" he asks worriedly. "Richard's been pacing the hallways for the past hour. He's only just left. What happened?"

_I'm trying to find out. _"Listen, Charlie, I'll explain later, okay? I just . . . I'm going to take a bath."

Charlie raises his eyebrows. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Thought we were friends, but whatever." He storms out, and I fill with guilt. One more person angry with me.

"What happened?" I ask as soon as Charlie shuts the door behind him.

"That's a loaded question," my father replies.

"What happened?" I repeat in a firm tone.

With a deep sigh, my father recounts the first few hours of my arrival. "You were very vocal about your, uh . . . fondness for this Richard guy. Told him he should grow out his beard. Something about his accent . . . truthfully, I zoned out at that point."

"_What?"_

"I stuck around to make sure he didn't take advantage of you, but it turns out he's a decent man. Didn't do a thing." My father's face scrunches up in distaste. "It was actually _him_ I was worried about being taken advantage of. You apparently don't respect _no._"

I take a steadying breath. "Was Charlie in here?"

"No. Just you and your . . . what was it you told me he was? Best friend? Huh. Usually people don't want to do those kinds of things with their best friends, but hey, I'm not here to judge."

I slowly sink back down on my bed, nauseous dread pooling in my stomach. _How can I fix this? I guess I can just forsake my Temple duties and become an official Dharma member. Stop my nightly visits altogether, then I'd never have to see Richard again. But what about David? Oh, screw it. I can make something up. I'm a good liar. I'll think of something._

"Damn marijuana brownie," I grumble. "Dad, remind me never to eat anything from a Dharma potluck ever again."

Taking a seat next to me on the bed, my father coughs a laugh and nods at my door. "This should be interesting."

Richard bursts into my bedroom, and I shoot up from my seat on the bed. David wakes up and gurgles his displeasure at being awoken at this hour.

"Richard—" As soon as I say his name, I don't know why I bothered to open my mouth. I don't know what to say.

He cuts me off with an expression made of stone. "You need to come with me."

"What?"

"Cecily," he explains, "you know her?"

"Yes," I stutter, confused at the odd topic of conversation. "Of course. What about her?"

"She's gone. Been missing since early this afternoon. Friends say she went out to forage for food and never came back. We need you to return to the Initiative and find out if she's there."

"Yes, yes, okay. I—oh, David . . ."

"I'll watch over him until you return." I head for the exit, but one of his hands reaches out and grabs hold of my wrist. "Be careful," he warns.

I smile, meaning to thank him, but I just end up running out the door.

* * *

Sawyer is off shift today, so he had no information for me. I sit outside, facing the security office, waiting for some kind of clue.

"Oh, shit," my father huffs under his breath. "Cora . . . aw, kid, I'm sorry."

I watch it all happen in slow motion. A van rolls up in front of the security office and three men jump out under the cover of darkness, carrying a limp body. Her lifeless hand swings freely with a dead weight. A bullet wound near her heart still leaks blood. Her glossy eyes are wide open, gleaming in the faint moonlight.

I watch the men carry Cecily's body in through the double doors and slam them shut behind them.

* * *

"Wake up." I shake one of Bosco's enormous paws. "Bosco, wake up."

"What is it?" he grumbles.

I pull on the dress Cecily so proudly helped make and strap a quiver of arrows to my belt. My hands shake so much I can barely tie my new wrap around my head. "You want your wife back?" I ask furiously. "Let's go get her back."


	37. Clear Conscience

"You can't do this."

I shoot my father a scathing expression, even though all he can currently see are my eyes. "When the hell did you ever care about what I do?"

"No, really, Cora. You can't go back to that island. Your boy—ah, your friend has people watching over the canoes. He's issued an order forbidding their use without his permission." My father shrugs. "My guess is he knew you'd act irrational once you discovered what happened to Cecily."

"_What?_" I reach up and pull the wrap down over my lips, exposing my face. "He can't keep me from leaving!"

"Evidently, he can."

"Then I'll just find another way to get there."

My father's translucent apparition stops in front of me. "You're going to get yourself killed, Cora. I forbid you from doing this."

I'm about to yell _Get out of my way _but then I realize he is virtually powerless, and I walk right through him.

I don't see it, exactly. I _feel_ it. Every emotion. Every frantic beat of my father's heart. I feel the panic strangling his lungs, cutting off his air supply until his head swims with dizziness. He is a young child, and he is afraid. Alone in his room, curled up on his bed, he waits for the pounding at his door to cease. There is danger here. Danger is here, and he needs to run.

The door to my—his—room splinters inward, a bloody fist peeking through and threatening all sorts of disturbing acts _if he doesn't open this door right now!_

He's climbing out his window to escape the drunken madman.

Arms pump furiously at his sides as he flies through the Kentucky wilderness. Lungs burning. Muscles fatigued. He should have brought water. He should have run away years ago.

I blink away the vision as the mist clears, and I slowly recognize my surroundings. My heart is still pounding like I just ran across the island and back.

"Isabella," my father pleads as if nothing had just happened, "for the love of God, help me out here!"

"No te vayas," she begs me. "No, no."

_What the hell just happened? _I think back on the visions and try to determine if they were real or if I'm just having some kind of nervous breakdown. Maybe it's both. "I'm going, and that's final."

"You're not thinking clearly," my father argues. "You're acting on impulse."

"She was just a kid," I shout over my shoulder. My voice echoes eerily throughout Bosco's chambers. "She was only a child, and they killed her. I can't just ignore that, dad."

"Then don't ignore it," he tells me in a calmer voice. "But _think_ about what you should do first. Rushing out there without a plan is only going to get you killed."

"Yeah, okay." I roll my eyes. "Now you're suddenly interested in my safety?"

"I've always been interested in your safety," he snaps.

Before I can ask him what he means, Bosco snorts loudly. "Who are you talking to, human? You woke me up with promises of rescue. Are we still going to do this, or not?"

_Deep breath. Think. _"Dad? I have an idea. But I'm going to need your help again. You too, Bosco."

"What do you need me to do?" Bosco growls.

"I need you to swim me over to Hydra Island. Think you can do that?"

"You do not know how to swim?" he scoffs.

"I'm not nearly as fast a swimmer as you are."

"Very well," he agrees. "Let's go. We must not waste time."

* * *

"There's a camera between those two trees. Do you see them?"

I pull my bowstring back against my cheek. "I see it." With the flick of my fingers, my arrow shoots through the night air and sinks in deep to the lens of one of Hydra's security cameras. Sparks fly up in a high arch, and a loud pop pierces the silence as the camera dies. My father says there are twenty-five cameras island wide, and if I shoot out enough of them on this half of the island, I will be able to make a clean getaway. Security won't know where I am. They are blind in the night, but I have my father to guide me back to shore.

One by one I destroy enemy surveillance. I get to camera six before the sirens start blaring.

"Shit," I mumble. "Dad, what's the fastest way to the polar bear sanctuary?"

"This way. Follow me."

Bosco trails behind us in a twisting maze of trees and underbrush. We break through the foliage into a section of the island I am unfamiliar with. I take a cautious look around and continue to follow my father. We reach a smaller building than the last one I broke into. Thankfully, this one does not have a security padlock.

I pull open the metal doors and usher Bosco inside, shutting the doors behind me. Two more arrows and the security cameras in this lab have been effectively dealt with.

A woman stands alone in the room, but instead of screaming or reaching for a gun, she smiles. "It's you," she says in amazement. "I—"

Before she can finish her sentence, Bosco charges forward and knocks the woman to the ground. He holds her down with one massive paw while she finally has the sense to scream.

"Stop, Bosco!" I command. "Let her go."

"You can't be serious," he growls. With great reluctance, Bosco moves away and allows the woman to stand.

The woman reaches back and pulls out a small handgun, promptly tossing it on the floor in front of me. "I don't want to fight you," she says. "We're on the same side. I don't believe in these experiments either."

There's something familiar about this woman, but I can't pinpoint what it is.

"Are you here to free the bears?" she continues. "I can help you. I can help you, but would you do something for me in return? These people are crazy. They've threatened my life if I don't continue experimentation, and they will not allow me to go home. They say I'm under contract for the next two years." She shifts nervously, speaking faster and faster as her explanation lengthens. "Will you take me with you? I can no longer stay here. I fear they will kill me."

It dawns on me. I know why she looks so familiar. Her brown hair is no longer the greyish white of her elder days when I first met her. My eyes widen at the sight of her. "Gail?"

Gail blinks, frightened. "How do you know my name?"

It doesn't take long for Bosco to find what he's looking for. The poor thing is twice the size she should be. She must be far along in her pregnancy to be this bloated. In the cage next to the pregnant polar bear sits an elderly, yet attentive, male.

"Gail," I say, "you can come with me, but you have to realize that I cannot guarantee I can send you home, and you will never see any of your friends from Dharma again."

Gail snorts. "I don't have any friends in this wretched place."

"Help me unlock these cages."

Gail pulls out a set of keys while I convince the elderly bear that I'm not here to experiment on him.

"Someone's coming," my father alerts. "He has a gun."

I feel sick. I don't want to know what it feels like to kill another human being. Even if these people killed Cecily, killing them isn't going to bring her back. And yet, he could be the example I was looking for. The warning I need to send to Dharma for killing one of my people. I pull out an arrow and aim at the door.

"What are you doing?" Gail and my father hiss in unison.

"Is this the only person in the building?" I ask.

"What person?" asks Gail.

"Yes," my father answers, "but he has a _gun, _Cora! Get out of here!"

"I can take him. An eye for an eye, right?"

"What are you talking about?" asks Gail.

I take a steadying breath just as Dr. Freeman comes bursting into the lab, gun drawn. The two of us stare blankly at each other, each unwilling to release our weapon. His eyes widen with recognition from the last time I attacked this island, and my eyes widen with recognition of Annie's father.

_Don't do it, Stephen. For the love of God, don't give me a reason. Please, don't. _But he does. Dr. Freeman pulls the barrel of his gun up, so I have no choice but to release an arrow high into his right shoulder, away from his heart. He drops the gun, crying out in pain, and I shove him out of the doorway.

* * *

We break through the tide with a crash. I slide off of Bosco's back and feel warm sand sift through my toes. The sensation doesn't last long. Collapsing to my knees, I hang my head and rip off the wrap so I can yank at my hair. The pain makes me feel better, but not by much.

The elderly polar bear shakes off his coat all over me. "I say we kill the humans now and have ourselves a feast."

"You will do no such thing, you old coot." Bosco stands up to his full height, daring the elder to challenge him. "The human has kept her promise, and you will not touch her."

"I'm so tired," the female polar bear moans. "I could barely swim all the way here. Let me sleep. I must sleep."

"Not here," Bosco warns. "The human has a safe place for us to rest. It is not far from here, love. You can make it. Human, show us the way."

* * *

"—Reckless, irresponsible, and not to mention—"

"I really don't need a lecture, Richard."

"You could have gotten yourself killed," he shouts.

"Don't patronize me," I snarl. "I got the damn polar bear back. Nobody was killed. _It was a success!_"

"You should have at least let me know you were going. And how do we know we can trust this woman you brought back?"

I spin around, throwing my hands up in the air. "I don't have to tell you every time I do something! Look, if you want to help, find me a secluded space where I can pray in peace."

"_Pray?_"

"Yes, Richard. You know, that thing you're supposed to do when you want to talk to God? I need to do it, and I don't want any interruptions." The nauseous high I received from shooting Dr. Freeman has worn off, and now I am drunk with fatigue. "Please," I beg, exhausted, "I've shown Gail to her room for tonight and instructed Brandon to watch over her. She's not going anywhere."

Richard exhales heavily, eyeing me, and then he looks off down the hallway. "I know a place underground, if you're not claustrophobic. Nobody ever uses it."

* * *

Aside from the lack of religious symbols spread throughout the room, the underground prayer chamber is just as expansive as I remember it. I take a seat down where I remember my Virgin Mary scroll being and stare blankly at the wall. "I'm sorry you ever had to meet me."

I hear Richard snort from behind be. "Stop being absurd."

"Face it, Richard. I'm a train wreck." I listen to the sound of his footsteps turning for the exit, and I call him back. "Richard, I want to apologize for anything I've done that made you think I want to be anything more than friends."

"Cora—"

"I'm serious." I twist around to face him, but I can barely see him in the pale glow of my lantern. "I had assumed all of your affectionate gestures were simply your way of supporting me in my time of need. I never addressed it because I didn't think it was an issue. I see now that my silence was a mistake, and I'm sorry. It wasn't fair to lead you on for so long." I watch as he looks down at the ground, his expression refusing to reveal any clue as to how he feels about my little speech. Finally, I cannot stand the silence any longer. "I know we can't just go back to the way things were before, but I don't want to lose you as a friend. You're one of the few friends I have left."

At this he looks up and smirks knowingly. "Do you honestly think I look better with a beard?"

"Richard," I warn, "don't start."

"You try to do everything alone, and you don't have to. We're all on your side. Let us help you. Or at least tell us when you're about to go gallivanting off to war."

I can't help but laugh. "Did you seriously just use _gallivanting_ in casual conversation?"

"What? That's the right word." His eyes shift in contemplation. "It is the right word, isn't it?"

I ask if he would like to stay, but he claims to be in desperate need of sleep and exits with a small nod of farewell.

After hours of soul searching, scripture resuscitation, and a whole mess of Hail Mary's, I start to feel a little less like the worst person in the world.

_Richard is right. Why am I stressing so much when I have an entire community of people I can discuss things with? And if I feel uncomfortable telling them something, I can always count on Richard to give me good advice. I'm too young to be losing this much hair._

It should be early morning by now, but thankfully it is the weekend, so I don't have to worry about being in the classroom at a specific time. I groan when I realize I still have to go back to the Barracks so security won't suspect me of being involved in last nights attack.

"Heading back?" my father inquires.

By the time I register the sound of his voice, I've already turned around and walked right through him by accident. I'm surprised by his sudden appearance, but I'm even more surprised when the room around me morphs into a child's bedroom.

_I am my father. My father is a child. A rooster crows on a distant fence. Nervous sweat slowly trails down my hot forehead. I watch the darkness for monsters. I wait in the shadows for my door to open. I hate the dark. I hate the mystery of what it hides. Just a creak of a door hinge, and I know he has arrived. My heartbeat hammers in my chest. There is an unwelcome hand on my leg._

I break out of the mist with a strangled cry and stumble backwards, sprawling out on the ground.

My father stands over me, looking confused. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

All of my father's emotions still swirl within me—fear, anger, nausea—and I bring a hand up to my mouth in case I vomit. When I can muster the strength to speak, my voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. "Who was that man?"

"What man?"

I hold my dizzy head to try and steady myself. "The man in your room."

"Cora, what are you talking about?"

"The man in your bedroom," I repeat. "I saw a man. He came into your room in the middle of the night. I . . . I think I was in your memories."

"My memories?" My father comes closer. "What did the man look like?"

"I don't know. I couldn't see his face."

His questioning sounds desperate. "What did the room look like?"

"There was a baseball bat in the corner. And, um, there were blue curtains, and a poster of a baseball player on the wall above a desk."

"What else did you see?"

I shake my head. "It happened once before. I saw you . . . you were climbing out a window. A man smashed your door in, and you ran away. Dad, who was that man?"

My father is silent for so long I almost abandon hope for an answer. "My uncle," he finally admits, and the way he says it makes my stomach sink.

I think back on how hard my heart was beating during the memories. "You were terrified of him."

"Cora, I don't want to talk about this."

"Dad, you're dead, and I'm stranded on an island. Who the hell am I going to tell?" I struggle to sit up against the wall. "Just tell me."

"He was . . ." My father pauses to think of the right words, and his face puckers. "He was very fond of me."

It takes a second to process, but when I realize what he's implying, my face pales. Now I really am in danger of vomiting.

With a sigh, my father throws a hand up in defeat. "He took me in after my parents died. Only living relative I had that wasn't in jail on felony drug charges. I was six. No matter how many times I ran away from his farm, he'd just bring me back. So I educated myself. Pretended to be an idiot while secretly excelling in my studies. It landed me free schooling with the University of Kentucky, and I finally had a place to flee from under my uncle's thumb. And that's when I met your mother."

I perk up immediately.

"I was given the opportunity to study abroad in Italy for a year. I minored in Spanish, but Italian was so similar it didn't take me long to master it. She was in one of my history classes." This memory brings a smile to his face. "I've never been able to figure out what the hell she saw in me, but before the year was over, I found myself engaged to an intelligent, beautiful, kind woman. I brought Marguerite to America for our wedding so she could claim citizenship. We were married in Kentucky with my cousin Lucy as our witness. I had no other living relatives who knew me very well, so it was a small gathering. Marguerite's parents flew in for the ceremony, and—"

"And what?"

Varying levels of pain shoot across my father's features. "_He _found us. Stalked us on our way to our honeymoon in Florida. He . . . followed Marguerite back to our hotel room without my knowledge. I didn't know he was there." I watch his eyes dart around like a madman. "I shouldn't have left her alone. Not for one second. The damn lunatic was jealous of _her._"

"Dad?" I whisper. "What are you saying?"

He looks up at me, like he's only just realized I'm there. "I was out swimming. I never had a pool growing up, and I wanted to swim. I wanted to swim in the damn pool instead of going back to my room with my wife. By the time I returned, he . . . he had already—" His jaw clenches, and he refuses to finish the sentence.

My face is wet with tears I did not realize I'd cried. "Is that why you moved so far away from your old home?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where he is now?" I furiously wipe away strands of hair stuck to my wet face. "He could find mom again. Dad, he could find Capri and Cassandra and—"

"He won't find them."

"How do you know that?" I yell.

"Because I killed him," he says definitively. "Hacked that son of a bitch to pieces and threw his remains in the lake near his house for the bass to feed on." Something in his entire being shifts, and even though there is nothing he can do to me, I am frightened. "Marguerite and I spent our honeymoon gathering what little belongings we had and sped to California to start a new life. Your mother wouldn't let me near her for weeks, despite my insistence that I wanted nothing from her. I just wanted to comfort her. I wanted her to stop hurting. But she refused to let me into her bedroom, and I respected her wishes, so it was a while before we realized she was pregnant with you. Obviously we couldn't tell anyone who your real father was, or they'd investigate his disappearance and trace it back to me. So we pretended you were mine."

Fragments of my own memories start to piece together. The odd way in which my father tried desperately to show me affection in my early years. The bitterness that infected his demeanor the older I became. He was putting on a show for my mother. It feels as if I'm suffocating, and no amount of flailing will bring me to the surface for air. "That's why you hate me, isn't it? Every time you look at me, you see him. I disgust you."

"That's not true," he argues halfheartedly.

"It _is_ true," I snarl, and he at least has the decency not to refute me again. When I trust myself to speak, I ask, "Did you ever, even once, love me?"

I watch him intently, taking careful note of every twitch and gesture. He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. "Of course I loved you. I _do_ love you."

My lips tremble so fiercely I worry I'll bite them off accidently while I speak. "Forgive me for not believing that you loved the product of your wife's rape."

"You forget you are half your mother. When I look at you, I see her as well." I want to argue, but his eyes have softened in a way that is unfamiliar to me, and I can't help but believe him. "I loved your mother. I know you don't believe me, and I can't make you believe me, but I did. More than anything in this entire world. My whole life I felt like a dirty, used piece of shit. She made me feel human."

"How did you die?" I ask bitterly, still clinging to all the years of hatred I had stored up for this man. Life doesn't make sense if I can't hate my father. He has been every source of misery in my life for as long as I can remember, and now he's taking all of that away.

"Car crash. The truck I was driving behind lost a piece of piping, and it sliced right through the windshield and straight through my right eye."

I restrain the urge to sigh sarcastically. "Go out drinking again?"

"I wasn't out drinking. I was on my way to attend an AA meeting."

"_What?_"

"When you disappeared from school . . . I thought, maybe . . . I don't know." His eyebrows knit together. "I thought it was because of me. And I just . . . your mother couldn't handle your disappearance. I just . . . I wanted to be better. In your memory. For her sake. For the sake of my children."

"You were going to Alcoholics Anonymous," I say monotone. Sweat dots my palms as a burning rage builds inside me.

"I never meant to become an alcoholic. But I guess that's what all alcoholics say. It started with just a glass of wine before bed to help me sleep. After . . . after I killed my uncle, I suffered from an intense insomnia. Your mother was the one who suggested wine. But the more I drank, the harder it became to forget what I had done." He shrugs. "I don't even remember when it got out of control."

"Eighteen years I was stuck in the same house as you, and you wait until I leave to seek help?"

"What do you want me to say, Cora? I was a horrible father to you, and I'm sorry. You didn't deserve my misdirected anger, and I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault that—" He falters, finally settling with a rushed, "I'm sorry I wasn't the father you deserved."

I don't know what to say.

"Cora, you've done well for yourself despite my setbacks. I've watched you with these people, with these animals, with little David. You are bright, and kind, and a good mother, and I'm very proud of the woman you've become."

And now I really don't know what to say.

"Can you promise me to think through any more of these raids you're obsessed with?" The genuine concern in his voice brings the tears back. "I can't save you if you ever get into danger. I don't want anything to happen to you."

I shake my dizzy head. "I think my days of raiding are over, for now. I can't go through something like that again."

"You're upset about shooting that girl's father. Annie, isn't it?"

I place a hand over my face.

"Lady Cora?"

I gasp.

Cecily's friend—whose name escapes me—jumps in fright. "I'm sorry!" she apologizes. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just . . . well, the woman you've brought back . . . she's asking for you."

"Gail?" I ask, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Yes, my lady." The young girl fidgets in the dark doorway. "I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady, but Mr. Alpert said you were down here—"

"No, it's alright. Thank you for telling me." I stand up and brush off my clothes. "Tell her I'll be right up."

* * *

"They threatened your life?" I take a sip of tea. "Do you think their threat held any weight?"

Gail nods solemnly. "I believe they were serious. I had no living family to ask questions regarding my whereabouts. If the Initiative really wanted to kill me, nobody would have cared."

"Disgusting." I finish my tea and rub at my temples. It's only when the long sleeves of my dress fold over my arms do I realize I never changed out of my raid dress. "Gail, may I ask a favor?"

Gail coughs a laugh. "I owe you my life. Of course you may ask a favor."

I turn my back towards her. "Could you unbutton the top of my dress? Usually I would ask Cecily, but . . ."

"Yes, of course. Who was Cecily?"

"I imagine the Initiative wouldn't have told anyone. She was my friend. A little girl who used to live here. She's the one who helped make this dress."

"She is a skilled seamstress," Gail praises. "I'd love to meet her."

"She was shot and killed yesterday by Dharma security."

Gail's fingers pause against my back. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Like I said, it's not something the Initiative would have wanted to get out. What they did is in direct violation of the truce. They're afraid of starting a war."

"And will you?"

"Start a war?" I clarify. "Not now. Not yet, at least."

Gail works at the buttons and huffs. "Are all of your outfits this complicated?"

I laugh. "Thankfully, no."

"So, what's next? For me, I mean."

"Well, I've been thinking." I slip the dress over my head, far too sleep deprived to care about modesty, and search for my regular clothes. "There are quite a few young people here who would benefit from a proper education. I'm afraid I have too much running back and forth between here and the Barracks for me to dedicate hours at a time to teaching them."

Gail lights up at the prospect. "I would be honored to tutor them."

"They'll be so excited." I pull my shirt over my head and smile sleepily at Gail. "I see you've already met Brandon. I'm afraid he'll have to follow you everywhere for a while. Temple citizens are very private, and the Initiative recently murdered one of their people, so don't go looking for friends anytime soon. But you'll be quite safe here as long as you stay away from the outer walls. Security isn't too keen on outsiders to begin with, and they might shoot you if they think you're trying to escape and return to the Initiative."

"Thank you." Gail reaches out and clasps one of my hands. "Thank you, truly."

"Welcome to the Temple," I tell her. "I'll see you again tonight."

* * *

"Get up." I pluck the knitting needles out of Juliet's fingers and set them down on the table. "We're going to learn ballroom dancing."

Her face twists up in confusion. "_Ballroom dancing?_"

"Come on, it'll be fun. You need a break from knitting."

Juliet leans back into the couch, resting a hand on her belly. "Cora, I'm seven months pregnant, in case you didn't notice."

"Oh, _that's _what that is?" I point at her stomach. "I thought you were just bloated."

"Go ask Miles. It's his day off." Juliet picks her project back up and ignores me.

Luckily, it doesn't take long to find him in the courtyard. "Miles!"

He stops abruptly, and I just catch his mumbled, "Oh, God," before he turns around with a tense smile.

"Hey, Miles. What are you doing for the next hour or so?"

"Why?" he asks suspiciously.

"I've made a bucket list, and I'm trying to check off an item." I poke his chest playfully in the hopes of softening him up. "You and I are going to learn ballroom dancing."

"Oh, wow, _really_?" he exclaims. "I can't wait!"

"You know, I could cut your sarcasm with a knife."

Miles starts ballroom dancing away with himself, making a run for it when he's twirled about fifteen feet or so from where I'm standing.

But oh well.

I know who I can ask.

* * *

"I don't think I can do this." Ben shifts nervously from foot to foot. "I'm not a good dancer."

"Neither am I. That's why we're going to practice." I lift the needle on the record player and carefully lower it onto the record. Static crumples through the speakers, and then a slow melody begins. "Your hand goes here. Other one goes here. Good. Okay, on my count you're going to put your left foot here. Got it? And a one, and a two, and a three."

"Sorry," Ben apologizes before he's even taken a single step. His sorrowful expression is so pitiful that all of the enthusiasm is sucked right out of me.

I place a worried hand on the top of his head and smooth out the cowlick sticking out at an odd angle. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Ben lowers his head, embarrassed, and when he looks back up at me, I notice the tearful shine in his eyes. "Annie's dad was shot yesterday. She left this morning with her mom to go visit him in the Hydra Island hospital."

All of the guilt I should have felt last night hits me hard in the gut. "That's . . . that's horrible, Ben. I'm sorry."

"It was that scary lady," he says, wiping at his eyes. "The lady of the night."

My eyebrows shoot up at this revelation. "You think she's scary?"

"My father says she's a terrorist."

"Your father is an idiot," I say. "What do _you_ think about all this?"

Ben pauses to honestly think it through. "I wish she would stop hurting people." A thought crosses his mind, and his eyes widen in fear. "Do you think she'll come here and hurt more people, Miss Collins? Do you think she might start killing people from _our_ community?"

"Well, hold on. I mean, she hasn't killed anyone yet."

"She killed Olivia."

I pause midsentence and stare down at him with my mouth open. "Honey, nobody ever said Olivia is dead."

"I saw her. The lady of the night. I saw her the day she let the elk out of the security office. I watched what happened to Olivia." Ben's lips press together as he steadies himself. "She's dead."

I walk backwards until I run into a chair. _What the hell have I been doing? Making sure animals have a pleasant life, but at what expense? When did I start caring more about animals than I did humans? Shouldn't I care about them equally? _

Ben sniffs and wipes again at his eyes, clearly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried about Mr. Freeman."

"Ben, come here."

He shuffles over to where I sit on a kitchen chair.

"Never apologize for being concerned about the welfare of others." I reach out and take his face in my hands, brushing away a stray tear he missed. "You are a kind soul, Benjamin. You are kind and considerate and polite, which is far more than I can say for the majority of adults I've met in my lifetime." I smile at him, and he starts to cheer up. "How about we make a big dinner for Mrs. Freeman and Annie? I'm sure they won't feel like cooking tonight."

"Okay."

"You know how to cook?"

Ben shrugs. "A little."

"I'm thinking they'll want a three-course meal with at least four different types of desserts." I roll up my sleeves and pull him close to my side, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "What do you think?"

* * *

In the middle of my class lecture on homeostasis, another one of the teachers knocks on my door.

"Hi," Mrs. Goldstein—the Kindergarten through fifth grade teacher—peeks her head in through the door. "I was wondering if I could show the lower-level students around a day in your class."

I smile and wave them in. "Of course, of course. Hello, class. Come in. Have a seat."

Mrs. Goldstein ushers the small, shy children into the room and makes her way over to me. "We like to bring in the younger students to show them that upperclassmen aren't scary. I appreciate your cooperation. I hope we won't be too much of a distraction."

"Not at all." I notice one of the children standing in the doorway, looking unsure. "Come inside, sweetheart. We don't bite."

The little red headed girl hurries in and clings to Mrs. Goldstein's legs.

"Charlotte," Mrs. Goldstein laughs. "It's alright, dear."

"Charlotte?" I look at the little pale girl and wonder why I didn't immediately notice it before. _It can't be._

"Yes?" she asks, and I detect the British accent of her parents.

I force a smile, remembering how terrified she had been of me as an adult. When she found out who I was, she fainted. I don't know why she was so scared of me, and I'm worried it won't be long before I find out what it was. "You can have the seat right there, sweetheart. Next to Annie."


	38. Live And Let Die

_Michigan, 2007 (Present Day)_

_I used to fantasize about the type of family I would raise when I was grown. A side effect of child abuse is the construction of a long list of improvements upon your own parenting skills. I would spend long, sleepless nights imagining all the wonderful opportunities I would afford my children—opportunities that were never afforded to me._

_ But life has a way of never working out quite how I planed it to, and instead of a large family of my own, the universe decided to give me Alex._

_ She was a good daughter—kind, curious, and full of life. I don't know when it happened exactly, but somewhere between her fourth and sixth birthday she had me completely wrapped around her little finger. I found myself struggling to tell her "no" even when the decision was in her best interest._

_ Femininity, unfortunately, is lost on me. It was in Alex's teenage years that I almost lost full control of her. One night while I was seriously contemplating sending Karl away from the island, I ended up striking a bargain with a fox instead. I never meant to shut Alex away from the world. My intention was never to lock her up like Rapunzel in a tower. I only wanted to protect her, and now that I cannot, I feel horrifically powerless._

_ I hope with all hope that Alex is alive and well._

_ The front door of the little house I'm parked across the street from opens and shuts, revealing a woman and her two young sons. Both of the boys carry hockey sticks and thick knee and arm pads, and the woman has to shout at them twice before they stop whacking each other with the sticks. I watch the family hurry to their van and pile in, her husband running to meet them in the driveway._

_ I've memorized the file in my lap. Five children total—two in college, one in high school, and these two young boys currently on their way to hockey practice. She graduated from Michigan State with a degree in pre-med, which she used to become a veterinarian. The animal hospital she owns is only a few miles from her house._

_ I rest my hand on the door handle as the van passes by in a cloud of black exhaust._

_ I decide that I made the right choice. Revealing myself would be selfish. She has her own family now, and I'm sure the last thing she wants is to dig up the past and relive everything that led up to her abrupt departure from the island. I may not be able to speak with her, but I've seen with my own eyes that Annie is alive and safe._

_ That is enough for now._

* * *

"I'm not saying it's a stupid idea," Richard argues, "I'm just saying it's a bit morbid."

"How is a bucket list morbid?" I scribble down another item onto the paper and shake my head. "I'm not saying I'm going to die tomorrow, or anything. I'm just saying these are the things I'd like to do before I die. Could be tomorrow, could be years from now."

Richard peers over my shoulder. "What's first?"

"They're not in any specific order." I straighten the paper and begin reading down the list. "Host a large party. Read the top ten banned books in America. Memorize a passage from a classic work of literature. Learn to ballroom dance." I pause and crinkle my nose. "This is a really lame bucket list." I scribble in a few dangerous items, like rock climbing and learning to high dive.

Richard points at the list. "What's a Lamborghini?"

"An Italian sports car." I rest my chin in the palm of my hand, thinking wistfully of the fun I could have with a car capable of reaching those kinds of speeds. "I've always wanted to drive one."

Richard nods in thought, his eyes scanning over the words. "I can help with that one." He reaches over my shoulder and points at _Drink Wine. _"But I thought you don't drink."

"I don't." I can feel my cheeks reddening with the need to defend and explain. "It's just . . . I don't know. I've always been curious what it tastes like." I've never so much as sipped alcohol before to spite the habit of my father. But now that I'm an adult, it just seems stupid. "You can drink without getting drunk. I mean, Jesus drank wine, so why can't I?"

"What's skinny dipping?" Richard asks.

Gail about chokes on her own saliva and has to leave the room.

I immediately shield my list from his prying eyes. "Nothing."

* * *

"Cora, you don't need my help anymore. You've been a good student for the past year." Jacob wipes fish guts off his hands and begins to clean his knife. "If you want to teach people martial arts, go ahead. You know what you're doing."

I scrunch my nose and look away. "I wish you wouldn't do that in front of me. I've never talked to a fish before, but still."

Jacob shakes his head, seeming exasperated at my complaints, but I catch his smile before he turns away towards the foot statue. "Richard has told me some interesting stories recently. I had no idea you two were a couple. Mazel tov."

"We're not a couple," I snap.

"That's a shame."

"Did he tell you we were?"

"Not exactly." Jacob slaps the gutted fish on a rock strategically positioned over a fire, and it begins to cook. "I just assumed you were since you spend so much time together. You seem fond of each other." The slight sizzle of the fish fills the bright sea air until Jacob asks, "What's wrong?"

I blink rapidly, unaware that my expression had given away my anxiety and unhappiness. Instinct prompts me to answer with a quick _nothing, _but that's not true. Richard's pep talks and my father's recent showering of concern force me to pause and consider actually sharing my problems with someone else.

"I'm not happy, Jacob," I confess. "I want to be, but I'm not, and I don't know why that is."

"No clues at all?"

I snort and roll my eyes up to look at a low cloud passing through the otherwise clear blue sky. "I have a whole list of reasons why I'm unhappy, but there is nothing about them that I can change. I can't conjure up my family out of nowhere. I can't make my husband age faster than nature allows. But I've accepted these things, so by all accounts I should be leading a decent life."

"You find your life unfulfilling?"

"Well, no, not exactly." I think about the children I teach at Dharma and how much they have improved. Not only has each student mastered studies well beyond their grade level, but their creativity has blossomed as well. I'd like to give myself credit for encouraging peaceful encounters with animals and the instruction of a fictitious language, but I know I can't take all the credit. Children are sponges. Give them a little knowledge and they suck it all up and store it for later. All I had to do was afford them the freedom they needed within the obsessive and strict school system, and the children blossomed all on their own. Even duds like Doug have surprised me with all they've learned.

_That is an accomplishment worth being happy about, right?_

And then I think of David. Thoughts of David remind me of the intense, almost debilitating disappointment of finding out I won't be having children of my own. I may love David with every fiber of my being, and I may love him the way a mother should love her son, but I didn't birth him. I've never given birth, but I'm sure there is an unbreakable bond between mother and child that can be simulated but never mastered by those who choose to adopt.

_What the hell am I saying? I'm disappointed that I adopted David instead of being the one to give birth to him? What sense does that make?_

I place a hand over my eyes, shielding them from Jacob as I think. Prickly thorns tear at my throat, and I find myself fighting the overwhelming urge to weep.

These thoughts remind me that David is only one of several children born into a life without a parental support system. Brave Anjali, little Aiko, and all the other young people I met at the Temple during my brief present-day stay were all brought here because I ordered it.

Maybe this will make me feel better. Maybe this is what I've needed in my life—a way to improve the fortunes of others.

"Jacob?" I ask, swallowing saliva down my scratchy throat, and he turns to give me his attention. "I'd like to make a proposition."

* * *

"They're loud," Brandon complains, scratching at an ear. He's finally reached his full size—the same size as his father. Sitting down he almost comes up to my shoulder. "Are they always this loud?"

I laugh. "Human babies are very needy, Brandon, but they won't always be like this."

Gail wraps up the child Jacob brought me from a small village in Thailand. He told me both her parents had drowned in a fishing accident, and the village was having a hard enough time feeding their own children. Her name is Dok Mai.

"Isn't she precious?" Gail coos. Somehow Dok Mai has managed to fall asleep despite the incessant wailings of Kendric, the baby from Scotland.

Jacob has brought me five babies in all so far. Dok Mai from Thailand, Kendirc from Scotland, Chausiku from Eastern Africa, Batel from Israel, and Hai from China. Although I requested the babies sleep in my room with Gail, David, Brandon, and myself, I've made it abundantly clear to everyone at the Temple that each child's upbringing is a community effort.

In the corner of my room a young voice yells, "Play with us, Brandon!"

Brandon sits stone still as the tiny foxes I rescued tug at his ears and tail. "Leave me be," he warns.

I laugh. "Since when did you get so serious? I've never known you to give up a chance to play."

"I'm too old for such childish things." He lifts his nose up. "I must protect the human children."

"Gail has that covered for now," I say. "Play with the foxes, Brandon. You're their favorite around here."

Brandon snorts in contempt, but I suspect he is secretly thrilled. If he wasn't, he would have put up more of a fight. "Oh, alright. If you say so." Brandon lowers his head to the floor, and the foxes attack by pouncing on his mussel.

"Gail," I whisper, "would you please watch over them while I take a bath?"

She places Dok Mai in a cradle, eyeing the child with an abundance of admiration. "Of course."

Buckets of boiled water have already been dumped into the wide stone tub. I test it with a hesitant toe, and when it has cooled to an acceptable temperature, I carefully fold my clothing and set them aside.

I'm instantly relaxed, but there's something missing.

Bottles used to line the walls of this bathhouse, but my shelves are bare. I have not yet filled them with jars of rose petals and sweet oils.

"Gail?" I shout.

She appears in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Do you know of anyone that has bath oil?"

"No. Would you like me to ask around?"

I rest my head back against the tub. "No, that's alright."

"Are you sure? It wouldn't be any trouble."

"Don't worry about it. I'll get some tomorrow." One of the babies starts crying again, and Gail hurries to console it.

I find most things in life to be absurd, but the fact that an educated woman with two Doctorates from Stanford is now a glorified nanny is ridiculous beyond words. Gail should be out in the world making groundbreaking discoveries. She laughed when I told her this.

I like Gail. She's an easy person to talk to. I never feel like I'm being judged when we have serious conversations. After my recent outing with Richard, Gail was more than happy to take his place at night. Even with someone near me when I sleep, I still wake up panicked every few nights or so. Gail usually rubs my shoulders until I fully wake up and realize the nightmare has ended. She's even taken to bringing a set of tea things down and placed them by the fireplace in my room, so she can make us both a cup when the nightmares are too much.

Steam from my bath makes my neck and face sweat. I grab a washcloth and begin scrubbing dirt off my arms. When I reach back to scrub in-between my shoulder blades, I only succeed in grunting with frustration. My arm doesn't seem to want to bend at the angle it needs to.

"Please, allow me." Gail takes the cloth and wrings it out. "Kendrik fell back asleep. Poor babe just can't stay quiet."

As Gail begins to discuss some interesting things she heard this afternoon, I rest my head back against the stone, reminded of the woman she will become in the next twenty-something years.

The question remains—what kind of woman will I become?

* * *

"Do you think Jane Austen wanted to be single all her life?"

"I'm not sure anyone wants to be single all their life. Why do you ask?"

I snap _Sense and Sensibility _shut. "I'm sure that's not true, Richard. Lots of people choose never to marry."

"You have to wonder, though, how many of them regretted that decision when they grew old and had no partner to talk to or children to visit with." Richard holds out a thick spiral-bound book. "Here's the Italian cookbook you asked for."

"Wow, it weighs a ton."

"You should take that as a good sign."

I flip open the book and start glancing over all of the recipes. It turns out Ben and I both have a natural talent for cooking, so we've been spending a lot of our free time in the kitchen experimenting with dessert recipes. Our agreement is a win-win for the both of us—I make tons of delicious food, and then Ben gets to eat it all. Watching him eat somehow sabotages the bug in my brain that forces me to consume food without actually being hungry.

"Is there any specific dish you'd like me to make you?"

"Butter cake," Richard replies without pause. "It used to be my favorite as a child, in the rare instances when we could afford the butter for it."

I chuckle at the thought of young Richard gnawing on a stick of butter. "Well, we can definitely afford the butter now."

* * *

I start to settle into this life. Annie's father makes a full recovery and, somewhat reluctantly, returns to work on Hydra Island. My father tells me security has been increased to the maximum capacity, and that the Initiative has even resorted to hiring dozens of new security workers to replace the loss of surveillance cameras. Hydra is now a landmine of armed individuals trained to shoot at any unauthorized person roaming around.

Bosco and his unnamed companion, who I named Frosty, keep to themselves most of the time. On days that are particularly hot, I'll find them cooling off by the large waterfall at the end of the Temple grounds. Bosco still requests that I ride on his back while they take walks around the sanctuary. He believes this cements his safety by insuring my people won't shoot him when he's not looking. The elderly polar bear, who I named Alabaster, hardly ever leaves the room I assigned him.

I've made self-defense lessons mandatory for everyone over the age of six, and under absolutely no circumstances are people allowed to leave the Temple alone. Richard helps me make bows and arrows for all the children and adults who want one. I give lessons primarily on weekends, because it's when I have the longest stretch of free time.

Time passes quickly. My life seems relatively normal now. David has begun crawling, and he makes it his mission in life to try and sneak away every chance he gets. He's called me _mama_ once, but I can't seem to get him to repeat it. Sawyer has been promoted to Head of Security, and now he has the means to update me on all things Hydra Island. Ben and Annie remain my best students, but the overexcited glimmer in Annie's eyes has dimmed somewhat ever since her father's injury. The guilt I feel for the pain I caused her family is overwhelming at times.

Richard and I remain friends, but at times I worry I've screwed it all up. Once in a while I'll find myself trying extra hard to be jovial around him, but I sense he knows I'm trying too hard. Once I start to feel I'm trying too hard, I stop trying altogether, which only makes me shift back into overachiever mode, and the vicious cycle never ends.

It isn't until the end of June that I realize he has stopped shaving his face.

* * *

Ben and I are in the middle of an intense game of chess when Sawyer comes bursting through the front door. "Juliet! Juliet," he pants.

"She's not here," I tell him.

"No," he says, wide-eyed and out of breath, "Juliet's having the baby! _Now!_"

I fly out of my seat so swiftly the game of chess goes sliding off the table, pieces bouncing across the floor. "Where is she?"

* * *

Sweat rolls off Juliet's reddened face, but her expression is miraculously calm. When she sees us enter, she simply holds out a hand for me, and I grab hold.

"You'll need to throw this on, Miss Collins, if you wish to stay." A nurse hands me some scrubs and nods to Sawyer. "Are you staying as well, LaFleur?"

"I'll, uh," Sawyer throws a thumb at the door. "I'll just wait outside."

The birth is difficult, and at one point I start screaming louder than Juliet because I'm almost certain she has broken my fingers in her death grip. After what seems like a lifetime, it's all over.

She's here. She's alive. She's beautiful.

I hold out my arms to retrieve her after the doctor has cleaned and swathed her. Rachel is a chubby little thing, with bright blue eyes and thick dark lashes. A gorgeous baby.

A familiar baby.

I've seen this baby before in the picture I found deep in a hole in my closet. At the time I thought the baby would someday be mine, and it had terrified me. In the picture I'm wearing hospital scrubs, I'm sweaty, and I'm holding a baby.

"Smile!" Sawyer exclaims, having snuck up behind me, and I instinctively turn to look at him. A flash goes off right when I hold little baby Rachel up against my face.

"Perfect," he says, beaming. "Now one with mama."

I hand Rachel to Juliet, and her shrill newborn wails instantly subside. Rachel knows her mother by scent, and she nestles into Juliet's bosom. Juliet kisses the top of her head.

I watch the both of them, wiping at my eyes, but not necessarily because I'm touched at the sight of them. I _am_ happy for her, and I'm thankful that at least one child on this island will have a wonderful blood relative.

My tears, however, stem from my jealousy.

* * *

I've been crying so hard for so long that my eyes are no longer able to produce tears. I sob anyway.

I didn't even bother going home to the Temple. I didn't want to have to explain my disheveled appearance to Gail. I sit slumped against my shelves of fiction, bathed in darkness. These books were once my only source of joy, and I had foolishly believed that books and seclusion were all I needed to be happy. That may have been true when I was young and impressionable, but ever since the blanket of depression was lifted from my eyes, I've realized how much I've been missing out on life. I've wasted so much of my life being unhappy, and now I don't know how long I have left to rectify that.

I'm so engrossed in my own sorrow that I don't realize Richard is beside me until I feel his hand on my arm. I'm thoroughly startled until I realize who he is.

"It wasn't my baby," I cry into his shirt.

He doesn't ask me what I mean, and for that, at least, I am thankful.

* * *

"I'm a horrible person."

"Why is that?"

I decide to admit my greatest shameful secret. "I don't think I love David enough."

Richard stops combing my hair with his fingers. "What does that even mean?"

Just thinking about it makes my throat close up again. "I don't think I love him the way I'm supposed to, and I hate it. I hate it, Richard. I hate being jealous of other people's babies."

Richard places a hand on the top of my head. "This isn't really about David, is it?"

It clicks. I don't know why, but it finally clicks. I've identified what this feeling is. I know why I've felt like crap even though I have so much to feel happy about.

I'm lonely. I'm surrounded by people everyday, and I'm lonely. I'm so lonely it physically hurts deep down in my chest, and I don't understand why I feel this way. How the hell am I supposed to explain that to someone?

"Cora?" Richard grazes my ear with the rough stubble on his chin. "How many days off in a row can you take?"

* * *

"Oh, God. It's hideous." I must have missed the memo, but an early model Lamborghini is one of the ugliest cars I've ever seen in my life. All sharp corners and futuristic shaping, the stupid thing looks like a thick triangle of cheese.

Richard runs a hand along the car's door. "You said you wanted to drive one."

"I can't drive that thing! I wanted to drive—" _A Lamborghini from my present day. _"Oh, never mind."

"At least give it a try," Richard pleads. "We can't have come all the way here for nothing."

"I didn't ask you to take me to Italy, Richard."

"La desiderate?" the salesman asks with a cheerful smile.

"Non ne sono sicuro," I tell him. "Per favore, mi dia un momento."

The man nods happily at Richard. "Lasciate che il vostro marito viaggio in macchina!"

I open my mouth to tell him Richard isn't my husband, but I end up rolling my eyes instead. "Alright. Fine."

I barely press the gas, and we shoot forward. The ride is jerky until I get used to the pressure of both the gas and the brake. Following the salesman's advice, I drive the car to the outskirts of the city, out of the way of general traffic. I ease the car onto a long stretch of dirt road and rev the engine. "Buckle your seat belt," I warn Richard. "I'm about to Indiana Jones the hell out of this thing."

* * *

The monk at the monastery remembers us. "Welcome back! I am most pleased to see you again. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room."

"Rooms," I correct, raising an eyebrow at Richard.

The monk looks worriedly at the both of us. "I'm sorry, but I only have a reservation for one. Is . . . will that be a problem, Mrs. Alpert?"

"No, it's fine," I say reluctantly.

* * *

I'm about to ready myself for bed when Richard grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me down next to him. My fist clenches in reflexive anticipation, and my skin prickles with adrenaline, but I flex my fingers when I realize he only wants to talk.

"Now," Richard prompts, "explain to me what the hell is wrong with you."

"What?"

Richard waves his hand around to illustrate his words. "All this nonsense about David and bucket lists and death. What's gotten into you lately?"

I try to evade the questioning session, but he refuses to release my wrist, so instead of punching him in the face and jumping out the window, I decide to tell the truth. "I was told I was going to die soon, and . . . and I'm just not ready to die."

Richard stares at me with a slowly forming frown. "Someone said you were going to die soon . . . _and you believed them?_" He continues to stare at me like I'm crazy. "Who told you this? Jacob?"

"No, just . . . somebody."

He shakes his head as if he had just wakened from a dream. When he finally thinks of something to say, there's a humorous edge to his voice. "Cora, I don't even know what to say. That's an incredibly foolish thing to worry about."

"Thank you," I say bitterly. "I'm glad to know you think I'm foolish."

"I don't think you're foolish," he replies, finally releasing my wrist. "I think you're acting foolish. There's a difference." Richard reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Has that honestly been the issue this whole time?"

No. It's not. I've tried to ignore it, but the truth is that the longer I run from it, the more power it will wield over me. "I found out recently who my father was, and it . . ." I focus my attention on a rogue string unraveling in the corner of the sheets. "It just really screwed with my head, Richard. It messed me up." My voice hitches on the last word.

I don't want my father's revelations to have any bearing on my self-worth, but my subconscious has other ideas. Deep down, past the point where I have any control over it, fears emerge. I always wondered why I was nothing like my mother. While she was, for the most part, calm and complacent, I am angry and violent. When I first arrived on this island, I worried that I had inherited these traits from the man who raised me, but now that I know the truth, I worry that I am unworthy to even care for David. I don't deserve a child. I don't deserve any happiness.

And it isn't just my lineage that brings these thoughts in an onslaught of self-destruction—it is the fact that I've spent my life hating a man that I had no right to hate. The man who raised me had a worse childhood than I ever did, and he still tried his hardest to love me despite what had happened. He may have done a terrible job of raising me, but I still had no right to hate him the way I did. After all, what did he do? He never physically assaulted me. He never once treated me the way he had been treated as a child. The harsh words he would fling at me were only flung when he was drunk, and he was drunk because of me.

_Oh God, my father became an alcoholic because of me. I hated him for something that was my fault._

"Richard," I wheeze out, trying to calm the panic attack building in my chest, but I have no air to explain myself. Panicking, I grab at my throat as if this will explain.

"What is it?" Richard swings around to kneel in front of me. "Cora? Breathe. Calm down."

I feel like I've swallowed a black hole. I don't know how long it takes for the attack to wear off, but when I can finally breathe normally again, I find my head resting against Richard's chest. Both of us lie back on the bed—Richard resting his head on my pillow and me resting my head on his dress shirt. I can feel the hard round imprint of a button sinking into my cheek, and I wonder if Richard's buttons are made of plastic or delicately carved of wood. His shirt smells faintly of soap, but the skin underneath it is rich with the scent of home—fresh dewdrops, orchid flowers, and salty seaweed.

I look up into his eyes and I understand how people stray from the path. Forsaking my beliefs is so easy to do when you're this desperate for human companionship. Just being held like this has greatly improved my mood. I read somewhere that if a baby is never touched by human hands, it will die. A baby cannot live without human touch, and I'm beginning to think that is true about human nature in general and not just infants.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into his shirt. "I didn't mean to freak out like that. It's just . . . the news was . . . appalling to me. I haven't exactly been able to deal with it."

"You are not your mother," he tells me, "and you are not your father, either."

"I know, but sometimes . . . it just doesn't feel that way. Sometimes it doesn't feel like I'm my own person. It's like I shift attitudes depending on who I'm with. I'm not the same person when I'm in the classroom than I am when I'm with Juliet or Sawyer or you. I'm different when I'm with Gail than I am when I'm teaching Krav Maga. It just gets all muddled up sometimes."

Richard cups the side of my face with one of his warm callused hands, smiling like it's a joke he understands and I don't. "I know who you are."

"No you don't."

"You are Cora June Collins," he proclaims, and I'm about to laugh when he adds, "and I love you a great deal."

I don't know how people brush off declarations of love, but I've come to the conclusion that I will always panic when faced with them. "If you're trying to seduce me, be forewarned that I know how to break your arms."

Richard is the first to laugh, and in a burst of euphoria I impulsively lean close and kiss his cheek. It has been months since he last shaved, and I haven't commented on it partly because I don't want him to, and partly because _he _knows I don't want him to, so there isn't really a point in asking anyway. He looks as surprised as I feel, but I only rest my head back down against his chest and hope he makes nothing of it. No such luck.

"Cora, I can't keep doing this." Richard's voice is even and calm, but his eyes convey exasperation. "What is it you want from me?"

I want someone to take Ben's place. I want someone to hold me the way he did without ever having to worry about them asking too much from me. Richard has already proven to be extraordinarily trustworthy in that department. It could never be someone else—Sawyer is too much like a father figure, Miles doesn't even like me, and Jin's wife is still alive. I don't trust anyone else.

With a reddening face I try my best to explain to him what I mean. I need him to hold me in my sleep and hug me often and generally stay within my vicinity when I'm at the Temple. I need someone who would raise David if something were to ever happen to me. And if I happen to kiss him, then I need someone who realizes this is not code for _take my clothes off. _"I know it sounds bizarre. Sounds bizarre even to me," I admit, "now that I've said it out loud. Feel free to say no."

"Just so I'm clear, you want me to court you without actually courting you?"

"Richard, nobody uses that word anymore. The word you're looking for is _date_."

Uncertainty crosses his face, but in the end he agrees to my terms.

"Thank you for helping me with my bucket list today."

"You're welcome." One of his hands rests lightly on the small of my back. "You should get some sleep. You're going to cross off number 15 tomorrow."

I roll over, smiling into the pillow.

Number 15: Learn to Ballroom Dance.

* * *

December arrives, but you would never know it if you didn't own a calendar. The island does not bring snow to our rooftops, nor does it bring a particularly chilly wind. The hot sun rises just the same as it did in the spring and the summer, and I prepare myself for school just like I have for the past year.

My classroom has been decorated with cards and posters proclaiming _Goodbye 1974, Hello 1975! _Animal reports line the top of the classroom's borders, followed by paintings of their favorite scene from the novels we've read. I had the students push their desks to the sides of the class so I can easily bring in animals for them to play with during their lunch hour.

When I return home that evening, I find my father waiting for me. "Now that security has made your little raids impossible, what do you plan to do for fun?"

"Ha-ha, because getting shot at is _so_ much fun."

"How was school today?"

"Why didn't you drop by and see for yourself?"

He snickers. "You always have something snappy to say when I'm bugging you. Figured I've give you the day off."

"How considerate." I fold up my uniform and sit down on my bed. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"It's my birthday tomorrow."

"Is it? Shoot. How old will you be?"

I scrunch my nose up. "Twenty-two."

"Ah," he waves a dismissive hand, "that's nothing to sneer at. Wait till your forty-two, then you can start worrying."

I laugh, but secretly I think _I won't live to be forty-two._

"Got any plans?"

I flop backwards on my bed, expelling out all the air in my lungs. "I don't know. I don't have a good track record for birthdays."

"Oh, come on. You mother and I always made sure you had birthday parties."

I give him a look out of the side of my eyes. "I've never had an enjoyable birthday party in my life. You always found a way to ruin them."

My father looks surprisingly shocked.

"You wouldn't have remembered ruining my parties, dad. You were always drunk off your ass."

"Oh," he says. "Well. I . . . I'm sorry about that."

"There was _one_ birthday that I enjoyed."

I watch him brighten with a glimmer of hope. "Oh?"

"You took me to Disneyland when I was four."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You remember that?"

"Of course." I don't tell him I remember it because it was one of the only happy childhood memories I have of him. "I remember everything down to the taste of the ice-cream you bought me before we went on the Peter Pan ride."

"It was shaped like a Mickey Mouse head," we both say at the same time, laughing.

"You were afraid of the Snow White Castle, but I couldn't get you away from the Dumbo ride. You liked how the wind tussled your hair."

"I remember that!" I sit up excitedly, crossing my legs up under me. "You got to pull on a joystick to make the ride go up and down."

"You always kept that elephant high in the sky." He smiles. "Well, we'll have to think of something extra special to do on your birthday tomorrow."

My father never smiled when I was a child, even though it makes him look younger, brighter, and more approachable. Smiles look good on him. A rush of sadness dulls the brief happy moment, and I have to clear my throat before I can admit, "I wish you weren't dead."

One second he's smiling down at me, and in the blink of an eye he's gone. "Dad?" I ask into the open air. "_Dad?_"

* * *

I stare at the phone, contemplating whether I should phone in sick or not.

What was once an impossible feat has been accomplished—I have forgiven my father. I forgave him, and now he's gone. He was my one piece of home in this place, and now I'll never see him again.

I cannot concentrate in class today. Since the moment he left me, I have been unable to sleep. All last night I stayed up looking for him, and I only just stopped searching two hours ago. I look like a sleep-deprived basket case.

"What's wrong, Miss Collins?"

I glance up at my class and blink rapidly, unable to determine who asked. "Students, take out your allotted books and read silently for the remainder of the class." I take Prince Humperdinck out of his cage and hold him to my chest. Time seems to slow and it is forever before the school day is finished.

I can feel myself losing control, but I refuse to cry in front of these children, so I haul ass out the door as soon as class is over.

I find Juliet and Sawyer eating on a lunch bench outside the cafeteria. I actually stop walking mid-step when I see the two of them talking. Juliet looks like a completely different person when she's happy. Little Rachel sits in a tiny baby carrier on the seat beside Juliet while her mother smiles genuinely and laughs at something Sawyer is saying. I shift awkwardly, not wanting to interrupt them, but Juliet spots me before I can flee, and she calls me over.

"Happy birthday, Cora!" Juliet pats the seat next to her. "I've got your present all wrapped up at my house. Well," she laughs, "actually LaFleur and I decided to pool our money together and get you a share present. Hey, what's wrong? Something happen at school today?"

I take a seat next to her, lay my head on her shoulder, and unleash the sobs that have been building up inside me since the moment my father left.

* * *

"I want to try that white one."

"You sure? It's not as sweet as the one you just tried."

"Just pour it, dammit." I take a sip and spit it out in disgust. "Give me that red one."

"Cora, I think you should take a break."

"If I wanted your opinion, I'd have asked for it." I thrust my cup out at Richard. "Pour."

"Excuse me?"

"The red one. Pour me the red one."

Richard opens his mouth to argue, changes his mind, and gives me the wine I asked for.

"I like this one. Tastes more like soda."

Richard stretches out to take my glass away, but I move out of his reach. "You're not supposed to gulp it like that," he chastises. "You're supposed to sip it."

"Mind your own business," I snap. "This is _my_ bucket list."

"Alright," he stands, looking thoroughly annoyed, "I don't know what your problem is, but I have better things to do than be treated poorly by someone I was trying to do a favor for."

"Where are you going?"

Richard brushes off his pants and heads towards the opening of my library.

"Hey, where do you think you're going? Stop!" When he continues walking, I throw my glass at him with all my might.

It shatters against the cave wall to his right, and he flinches away from the flying shards. Spinning around with a furious expression, he charges towards me.

I decide it's best to yell before he does. "You can't leave! You're supposed to pour me wine!"

"Pour you wine? In _what?_" His voice rumbles through the cave. "You just threw your glass at my head!"

"You can't leave me, too!" I scream. "_Why is everybody always leaving me?_" I try to stand up, but I feel weighed down. Richard hurries over to help support me. "Please tell me I'm not drunk."

"You can't be. You haven't even had two full glasses combined." Richard helps me sit up against the shelves. He pulls open my eyelids, and I smack his hands away. "Cora, have you eaten anything today?"

_Have I?_ _I spent so much time looking for my father I guess I forgot to eat. _"I don't think so."

Richard rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. "That would have been nice to know before we started."

"Yeah? Well, I should have expected it. Just another fantastic birthday."

Richard's eyes soften. "I didn't know it was your birthday."

"Yeah? Join the club." As sharply as a reckless U-turn on the freeway, my mood shifts. "I'm sorry I threw my glass at you. I don't know why I did that."

"Somebody needs to start using their big people words."

Freud once theorized that boys grow up to fall in love with women that look like their mother, and girls grow up to fall in love with men that look like their father. I have seen my father—my actual father—and Richard looks absolutely nothing like him, so Freud can kiss my foot.

I've never kissed someone with this much hair on his face before. Ben was always clean-shaven, and Ben is the only comparison I have. Kissing a man with a beard feels like washing your face. All your pores feel exfoliated afterwards, and your skin tingles with an almost minty sting. It's addicting.

Richard is the one to pull away first. "Maybe you are a little tipsy. You need to sleep this off."

I can sense a losing battle, so I switch tactics. "Can you sing me to sleep?"

"I . . . I'm not a very good singer."

"Please?"

"Alright," Richard relents. "Just don't get angry with me if you can't fall asleep. What do you want me to sing?"

I curl up at his side while he sings me my mother's favorite lullaby—the same lullaby I sing to David every night, aside from this one. Gail will take my place tonight. I taught her the lullaby, and Charlie will help her if she needs it.

My worries over David and my students and Juliet's new baby and Ben and the island and my family far, far away dissolve into peaceful sleep as I focus on the soothing rumble of Richard's voice.

At least this has been one birthday that ended pleasantly.


	39. My Little Pony: Friendship Is A Lie

_It's done._

_The Oceanic Six have all been gathered. Eloise is speaking to them now, explaining what they must do to return to the island. Sun, Hugo, Sayid, and Claire are returning to the island to find their loved ones on one condition—Aaron stays on the mainland with his grandmother. Jack will be returning in a coffin. I'm trusting Eloise to convince Desmond to return to what was once his prison, but I doubt he'll be joining us._

_ Charles has lost every contact I have on file. It took me months to locate the number, but I finally have his address in my possession, security codes and all._

_I have to subdue three men in the lobby in order to make it to the elevator near the back of the building. My pulse races as I punch in the elevator number that will take me to the unlisted floor where Charles sleeps. I admire his attention to security detail, but nothing on God's green earth can stop me from protecting my wife. If this is what is required to save her life, then so be it._

_ The elevator dings my arrival, and I step onto a plush blue carpet. He doesn't notice me at first when I enter the room. I wonder if his dreams are peaceful._

_ He wakes up at the click of my gun._

_ "Took you long enough," Charles complains. "I was beginning to think you'd never show up." His eyes travel to the barrel of my gun. "After all this, you planed to kill me in my sleep? I didn't take you for such a coward, boy." When I don't respond, he says, "Do I at least get an explanation for this sudden execution?"_

_ "You sent a mercenary group to execute Cora. I'm here to return the favor."_

_ "So," Charles raises his eyebrows in surprise, "Keamy was successful?"_

_ "No," I snap. "Unfortunately for you, he wasn't. "_

_ "But you admit she is alive?" Charles pushes up to rest against the headboard of the bed. "Cora is alive after all these years?"_

_ I had assumed he knew, but now I understand—Charles was never positive that Cora was alive. He sent the freighter on a whim, a guess, a suspicion not yet confirmed._

_"Look at you," Charles scoffs. "You've wasted God only knows how long tracking me down like a good little dog, and you don't even understand who you're working for. You were always too busy with your ridiculous schoolboy crush to ever see her for what she really was."_

_ I struggle to keep my temper. "And what exactly was she, Charles?"_

_ My old advisory looks me straight in the eye, somehow mustering the courage to smirk. "Corruptible," he says._

* * *

"But why is it a telephone box? And how can it time travel?"

I try not to sound too annoyed when I sigh. This is the fifth question from Annie, and we've only been watching the episode for ten minutes. Ben has been seated nice and quiet the entire time, completely engaged in the time traveling adventures of the Doctor. No such luck from Annie.

"Annie, the answer to any and all questions from this point on is _because it's a TV show, and it's not real. _Okay?"

She nods but looks less than pleased as she sits back against the couch cushions. "Actually, I think my mom wanted me home early for dinner."

"Oh?" I sit up and pile desserts Ben and I made earlier in the day on a plate. "Be sure to give some of those macaroons to your mother. They're her favorite."

"Sure will, Miss Collins," Annie chirps happily, reaching over to give me a brief hug. "Bye, Ben. See you tomorrow."

"Goodbye," I reply, waving as she shuts the front door behind her. "She hates my show," I admit grumpily.

Ben smiles tersely—not entirely sure if full on laughing is rude to Annie or not. "I like it. I don't really understand a lot of it, but it's interesting."

"Oh, good! Then you'll love your unbirthday present." I hop up off the couch and dig in the closet for the box I tucked it in. Took me a solid four months to knit. "Here you go. I didn't want to give it to you with Annie here. I felt bad. Her unbirthday present isn't finished yet."

Ben lifts the lid off and smiles excitedly. The scarf I made him replicates the one the fourth Doctor wears. It's so long that Ben disappears when he wraps it around his neck.

I laugh at the sight of him. "Perfect fit."

"Mmm-mpff."

"What?"

Ben tugs the scarf down over his mouth and asks, "Miss Collins, when will I be able to go back with you? To," he pauses, looking sheepish, "to your people."

"I'm working on it," I lie, and his face falls. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but these things take time."

The truth is that I don't know where I would put him. I can't leave Ben at camp because I don't trust Widmore, and I cannot take Ben with me to the Temple out of propriety. I can't very well invite my future husband to stay at the same lodgings where I fall asleep night after night huddled up to another man, and I am far too selfish to make different sleeping arrangements for Richard.

Ben looks disappointed, but not nearly as sullen as he did the first time I told him to be patient. I lean back against the couch and let him curl up into my side like a kitten.

Lately, whenever I'm near him, I'll have bouts of insanely passionate maternal thoughts—thoughts that include me, quite literally, ripping someone to shreds if they even attempt to harm him. It's almost as if I lose control of my own thoughts, and someone else fills my head.

I brush some of Ben's long brown hair out of his eyes and contemplate giving him a haircut. "Has your father been treating you better lately?"

"He ignores me." Ben's boney little shoulders pull up and then drop down in a shrug. "I prefer it to the way things were before."

Roger has been nothing but a burden ever since I rejected his advances. For some reason the idiot believed that I was hanging around Ben so much because it was my excuse to visit with Roger. Once I made it abundantly clear that I was not, and never will be, interested in him, he promptly started ignoring me. Sometimes when we run into each other at a party or a school gathering he'll go so far as to pretend I don't even exist.

A few months ago, I caught up with Roger while he was cleaning up my classroom. After having discovered purple bruises up and down Ben's pale arms during class early that day, it took all my willpower not to go Texas Chainsaw Massacre on Roger's ass. Instead, I opted for a very straightforward warning never to harm another hair on Ben's head. I'm ecstatic to find my threat tactics actually worked.

"Ben?"

"Yes, Miss Collins?"

"I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Understand? If you ever need a safe place to stay, come tell me."

He curls up closer to me, nodding.

"No more bruises?" I ask.

"No," Ben sighs into my side, his eyes traveling up to focus once again on the time traveling phone booth. "No more bruises."

* * *

Item Number 13: Host A Large Party

I cross this off my list, smiling. As soon as I let it slip that I wanted to host a party, everyone at the Temple lost their minds all at once. People were gathering food, instruments, and decorations before I could even think of suggestions.

"We'll have to make you another dress," Mary had insisted, and the girls that crowded around her all nodded in agreement. "A dress to surpass them all."

Three days later, they approached me with a familiar gown. It is the gold and white gown that I wore on my birthday back in the present day. Touching the silky fabric brings back a mixture of happy and sad memories, but most of all it brings back the memory of Ben. I wore this dress the last time I saw him.

"My Lady," Mary asks, placing a worried hand on my leg, "why do you weep?"

"I'm sorry." I shut my eyes tight, steeling myself from this pain in my chest. "It's just such a beautiful dress."

* * *

Streamers hang from tree branches and shrubs, platters of food balance on tabletops and flattened rocks throughout the courtyard, children play with swirling sparkler fireworks in the dirt, and a group has formed around the band playing lutes, flutes, drums, and an array of instruments I've never seen before. The festivities carry on well into the night.

I smile at all the cheerful faces. It feels good to bring happiness to these people.

"May I have this dance?"

I accept Richard's outstretched hand as he leads me out to the middle of the designated dance floor. "Look at that," I say. "I can dance."

Richard leads me through one of the many Waltz's we practiced. "I thought I might as well claim bragging rights for your newfound skills."

I'm in the middle of a twirl when Brandon appears at my side. "Lady Cora," he pants. "The female bear is in labor."

I'm in such a good mood I don't immediately process what he's saying. "What?"

"She's having her cub. Bosco insisted I retrieve you."

Richard's hold on my waist tightens. "What's wrong?"

"There's no time to get Juliet," I think aloud. "Richard, I need your help."

"Where are you going?"

"To change out of my dress," I say. "Mary would kill me if I got blood on it."

* * *

I kneel in a pool of blood. It was foolish to think childbirth was only difficult for humans. Frosty started bleeding as soon as the little cub began crowning, and she didn't stop. I don't know if it was an unfortunate happening, or if the island had something to do with it. Either way, Frosty lies dead. Bosco lies next to her, his mussel resting mournfully on her head. Alabaster seems to be the most torn up about this, and it wasn't even his mate.

"Alabaster, I tried. I tried, but there's nothing we could do."

"You lie!" he roars. "Humans kill everything! You've killed everyone I've ever cared about! Let's see how _you_ like it!" Instead of rearing up to attack me, Alabaster turns to face the only other human in here.

A frantic scream comes ripping out of me. "_RICHARD!_"

Alabaster swats his enormous paw and catches Richard's shoulder, sending him crashing to the floor. A mighty roar rumbles the ground beneath my feet, vibrating off the walls in this small room until I can feel it reverberating in my chest. His anger is like a frantic swarm of bees.

Richard falls to the floor and all that runs through my mind is that I need to kill this bear to save him. _Find a weapon. Find something._

Bosco has joined in on the fight to protect us, and the two bears take deadly swipes at each other. Alabaster is much older, but that doesn't seem to be a disadvantage. He charges Bosco with a determined fury and bites down hard on his shoulder.

The impact with the floor has split the skin high up on Richard's forehead. I drag him out of the line of fire as my eyes continue their search for a weapon to help Bosco. I usually carry a knife or two on hand, but I didn't account for having to defend myself within the walls of the Temple, especially not at a party.

Blood drips down Richard's face, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. "Here," Richard grunts, pulling out a small handgun from the waistband of his pants. "I can't see very well. Take it."

"What?" I hold the gun awkwardly in my hand. "I . . . I always use a bow. I've never learned how to fire a gun."

"Well," Richard growls, "now would be a convenient time to learn."

"Stand down, old man!" Bosco roars.

"Traitor!" Alabaster accuses. "You're no better than they are! Remember who imprisoned you in the first place, young cub! Don't be naïve!" Alabaster tackles Bosco, and I raise the gun up to take aim.

I'm so unaccustomed to this weapon that my first shot is powerful enough to nearly fling the gun out of my hand. The bullet sinks into Alabaster's thigh, and the enraged bear abandons his assault on Bosco. Standing up to his full height, Alabaster turns to me and roars a stream of profanity. I hold the gun steady and pull the trigger until I'm out of bullets.

Alabaster staggers backwards, tripping over Bosco and finally collapsing in a heap on the stone floor.

I wipe blood from Richard's eyes.

"I'm fine," he says softly.

He tires to brush me off, but I am consumed with an obsessive need to check for myself. "You're bleeding," I tell him. "You cut your head. Your arm, too."

Richard wipes at the long bloody cuts on his arm. "Just a scratch," he assures me. "I'm alright."

My words come out spluttery and almost incoherent. "It could have . . . he almost . . . what if . . ." _I almost lost him. He could have died right in front of me._

"Bosco?" Richard nods towards the groaning mound of fur.

I spring up and approach. "Bosco?" I yell louder and louder until the bear finally opens his eyes. "Bosco—" I stop short at the sight of him. There is so much blood I don't know what is his and what is Alabaster's. A thick stream of red drips down near his neck. I pull back the fur and gasp. "Bandages. Richard, I need something to stanch this with." Grabbing one of the blankets laying on the floor, I pull tightly until it rips into a strip, and I press it hard against the wound. "He's losing a lot of blood, Richard."

Bosco pants weakly, not even attempting to get up off the ground. "Where is . . . my cub?"

"She's safe. We need to worry about you right now."

"Take care . . . of her."

"We'll take good care of her together," I whisper. "You and I. It'll be okay." But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they are lies. Bosco's labored breathing slows until it is barely a purr. A large puddle of blood soaks into the knees of my pants. He's losing too much blood, and there's nothing I can do. "Please don't," I beg.

His death isn't as drawn out as I feared it would be, and that is a small relief.

The shrill wail of a baby polar bear echoes through the silence. "Hello?"

* * *

I am indescribably sad at the death of all three bears, but I do not cry. Maybe I am too tired. Maybe I am finally immune to death. Who knows?

Richard has been attended to, and a white bandage wraps all the way around his head to stop the bleeding. It wasn't a deep cut, thankfully, and our doctor says he will make a full recovery. I take these assurances lightly, never leaving his side for any length of time. I have become paranoid and possessive. Even though Richard shows all the signs of being fully functional, I feel sick to my stomach when I don't know where he is.

Gail assures me I'm not crazy. "It's natural for us to worry about our loved ones. Especially after a tragedy. You're just in shock, Cora."

One night Richard stops me from running upstairs and bringing him a fresh bucket of water, claiming he can get it himself. "I'm not going to deny that I enjoy your attention," he admits with an amused smile, "but you need to calm down. You're going to give yourself another panic attack. I've already told you, I'm fine."

"I just want to help," I say.

"I know."

I take a seat at the edge of the bed. "Richard? Have you had any luck with the cub?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Me either," I admit.

The baby polar bear refuses to be near any of us. Every day she cries out for her mother, crawling away from me when I try to explain that I am her new mother. "You don't smell like mother," she tells me. I never know how to respond.

Suddenly, I have an idea.

"Richard, do you know how to tan hides?"

"Sure. I used to skin animals all the time when I first arrived here."

I grimace. "Good. Because I think I've figured out a way to get Marguerite to trust us."

"Who?"

"It's what I named the bear. Marguerite." I don't tell him I'm naming her after my mother. "I'll . . . oh, God, I can't believe I'm going to say this . . . I'll skin her mother and wear the fur to trick Marguerite into thinking I'm a bear like she is."

"You better hurry and stop the funeral then," Richard warns me. "The pyres should be lit by now."

I had forgotten. The Temple burn their dead, just like the Others.

* * *

I reach the funeral just in time to save Alabaster, who is the only bear not yet engulfed in flames. "Wait!" I scream. "Stop! Stop! Don't lite him! I need his fur!"

* * *

"How's this?" Richard holds up a bright white fur hide. The girls have contributed by sewing a hook that connects the neckpiece to my own clothing, so the cape will not fall off.

I hold it in my hands. The fur is rough between my fingers. "It's perfect."

* * *

Alabaster's fur weighs heavy on my shoulders, but I wear it almost constantly in an effort to win Marguerite's trust. The little bear trots along beside me everywhere I go, nudging at my leg.

Much to my annoyance, Richard no longer sleeps alongside me at night. Marguerite won't allow it. She doesn't trust him. She doesn't trust Gail, either, not even if they wear the fur.

So I sleep alone now. Or, rather, I sleep with Marguerite curled up beside me like an oversized cotton ball. Gail sleeps in a room she fixed up to be a nursery for all the adopted children. Richard sleeps in his own room with baby David.

I watch each of the girls pull back an arrow and let it sink into the targets I painted into the Temple trees. "Good," I praise. "Very good. You're are naturals."

I make my rounds, correcting when I need to, but the girls have all improved at an alarming speed. Their form and agility makes me both proud and relieved that they have a fighting chance against anyone wishing them harm.

As the day draws to an end, I pack up my demonstration bow and bring it down to my room. Much to my everlasting surprise, Marguerite jumps onto my bed and promptly falls asleep without me beside her. I quickly shed the fur and leave to visit Gail.

Gail is already asleep when I arrive, but she wakes up at the sound of the door closing. "Hello, Cora. What do you need? Are you taking a bath tonight?" she asks sleepily. "I can call for some hot water."

I check on each of the children. "Actually," I start, and my face warms with embarrassment. "Actually, no. Marguerite fell asleep without me, so I'm taking the opportunity while I can. I'm going to cross off another item on my bucket list. I'm so sorry I woke you."

It only takes a moment for Gail to realize what I mean, and she smiles. "Have fun," she tells me. "If you want my advice, go to the waterfall. It has the warmest water."

* * *

I no longer have any qualms about nakedness amongst females. When I first came to this island, I could barely convince myself to undress in front of Gail. Now I walk around my room naked half the time, allowing Gail to scrub me clean and towel me dry and dress me up in the garments Cecily's friends sew me. I'll dress and redress even if some of Cecily's old friends are in my room.

Which just makes this whole situation that much more ridiculous. I'm in the middle of the jungle in the dead of night. There's nobody here to see me, and yet I have more anxiety than I ever had back at the Temple.

Skinny-dipping is supposedly fun. I remember girls at university telling stories about how thrilling it felt to strip down to your birthday suit and plunge into the water. Looking down into the dark, bottomless water makes me worry for their sanity.

I dip a toe in, and at least it's warm like Gail said it would be. I take a few paranoid looks around, hearing nothing, before pealing off every stitch of clothing.

While not exactly what I would classify as fun, there is a sort of peaceful quality to it. I float in the water, not separated by layers of clothing, staring up into the black expanse of night sky, suspended in time. I am one with nature. Nothing exists except the watery warmth enveloping me like mother earth's womb.

I don't know how long I've been in a peaceful trance when suddenly the bushes nearby begin to rustle. I dunk under the water, heart racing, and peak my head out to see what emerges.

A Dharma member is stealing my clothing.

"What the hell are you doing?" I scream. "Get away from my clothes!"

The man raises his head, and I recognize him as one of the nameless assholes that sexually harass me whenever they get the chance—lustful comments about my breasts here, a lewd joke about my ass there. I finally had enough and poured my entire bowl of steaming hot soup over his head. This must be his revenge.

"Have fun walking back home, bitch." And with that he scampers off into the night with my clothing.

"_Bastard!_" I scream. "Get back here, you pervert!"

But my cries fall on deaf ears, and the night returns to usual. Bugs hum and whir around in the air above me. A bird calls for his mate off in the distance. I am suddenly aware of how late it is.

Humiliated, I swim to the edge of the bank and climb out of the water. Being in water warmer than the night air for so long makes the normally tolerable jungle breeze feel freezing cold against my skin. I shiver as goosebumps prickle all over me.

Unsure as to what to do, I totter between running to my library for shelter and running after the man who stole my clothes. If I hurry, I'm positive I can reach him. I'd love nothing more than to knock his teeth out for putting me in this situation. But then he'd see me naked, and I'd have to kill him. Literally. He doesn't deserve the effort it would take to dig a grave.

I decide to seek shelter in my library until I can think of a way to clothe myself long enough to make the long walk back to the Temple. I haven't made it half a mile before my ears detect the softest sound of footsteps. I crouch down and hide behind a tree just as Richard appears.

"Richard!" I hiss.

Surprised, he spins towards me with a hand already resting on his gun.

"Richard," I say a little louder, "it's me."

"Cora?" he asks.

"Yes, it's me. No, no, no! Don't come any closer!"

Richard halts, taking a good look around and finally pulling the handgun out. "What are you hiding from?"

I rest my burning face in my hand. _Why the hell do things like this keep happening to me? _"Nobody's after me," I tell him. "I'm hiding because somebody stole my clothes."

Richard swivels his head to look at me and lowers the gun. "Somebody what?"

"_Would you stop walking towards me?_" I practically scream. "I'm hiding because I'm completely naked."

I would laugh myself sick at his expression if this weren't such an embarrassing situation.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, a sharp edge to his voice.

"No, I'm fine."

"Who did this to you?" Even from my spot behind this tree I can still see his furious expression.

"Who stole my clothes?" I sigh. "Someone from the Initiative. He's long gone by now."

"He forced you out of your clothes?"

"No," I say, dragging out the word. "I was . . . okay, can you throw me your shirt or something, please? If we're going to talk, I'd like to not have to crouch behind a tree."

"Hold on. Okay, here." Richard pulls off his shirt and tosses it to me.

I try to ignore his bare chest reflected in the moonlight while I tug my arms through his clothing. The shirt is ripe with his scent, and it sends a ripple of warmth through me. "Uh-oh."

Richard starts to take a step forward. "What?"

"Uh, your shirt isn't long enough to cover my bottom half."

Without even pausing to think, Richard says, "Here, take my pants."

I mean to look away, but for some reason I can't. Even stranger is that I'm no longer embarrassed when he tugs off his jeans and stands before me wearing nothing but a pair of loose cotton boxers. In fact, the sight of him is so familiar that I stand up before he has a chance to toss me the pants.

Memories surface that are not my own, but I slowly stop caring. I mold into the mind of someone else against my will. Emotions flow through my veins, and I am powerless to stop them.

Then it stops, and I quickly duck down to hide myself again, massive amounts of embarrassment turning my face bright enough to see in the dark.

_What the hell is going on?_

Richard's pants don't fit me, but I didn't expect them to. I am, however, happy that they are slightly too big and not too small. Feels almost like an accomplishment. Clothed at last, I stand up. "You asked me once what skinny dipping was. It's when you take off all your clothes and jump in a body of water outdoors."

Even through his thick beard I can tell Richard is smiling. "And this was an item on your bucket list because . . ?"

"Because everyone says it's fun, and I wanted to see for myself."

"Was it?"

I shrug. "It was alright up until some jerk-wad took off with my clothes and left me stranded here."

"Well, then I guess it's lucky for you that I can't sleep." Richard points down the path. "I was on my way to your library to read away the insomnia. But we should probably head back—"

"No!" I interrupt. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . I've been a little overwhelmed with Marguerite needing me every waking second. It's nice to be away from that for one night. I have all this free time, and I want to do something with it."

"What did you have in mind?"

The emotional parasite is back, and this time my entire body responds to the sensation. Memories of midnight caresses and stolen kisses flutter behind my eyelids, but even though they feel real, I know in the back of my consciousness that they are not my memories.

They are Isabella's.

Everything starts to click. She has slowly been morphing him into the man he was before she died—the beard, the clothes, the conversations in Spanish. My attraction to Richard hasn't been mine at all.

A voice in my head chastises me for the lie. Isabella may have been unknowingly influencing my attraction to Richard, but there is a part of me that was always attracted to him all on my own; However, the two of us have mixed together so strongly that I can no longer distinguish what feelings are mine and what feelings are hers. What scares me most is that I no longer care. There is a mighty need for him building up inside me, and I no longer feel like fighting it.

So instead of feeling scandalized when I pull Richard's shirt off me and drop it at my feet, I feel more alive than I have all year.

* * *

I sit at my classroom desk with a stack of today's exams, but I cannot muster up the concentration to grade them.

When I think back on last night, I feel guilt but not regret. Guilt because I broke the sacred oath I had always promised myself I would never even dream of breaking—I committed the same act I spent a lifetime condemning others for committing. I used to spend hours pretentiously scoffing at people like Kate and Juliet and my father for not respecting the sanctity of marriage, and yet here I am in all my bigoted glory.

My life has been built around the idea of belonging to one person and one person alone—to be faithful and never cause anyone pain, like my father had. But in the end, I am no better than he was.

Isabella may have influenced me at first, but ultimately the decision was still mine to make. I took it willingly. I enjoyed every last second.

In the silence that followed our frenetic lovemaking, while we were still struggling to catch our breath, Richard asked me to marry him.

I suppose this was all inevitable. It was my fault I made such a stupid arrangement between us in the first place. Who the hell lets an attractive man sleep next to them every night and then acts surprised when something like this happens?

Blame it on loneliness. Blame it on my hormones. No matter what excuse I make, I am still at least partially responsible for this mess.

I had to leave while Richard was still fast asleep beside me. Telling him that this was all an incredible mistake wouldn't be fair to him. I ended up tying his shirt around me to cover up on my way back to the Temple. I can only imagine what the guards at the gate think, especially after Richard returned this morning shirtless.

The thing that I can't seem to cope with is that I care about him more than I 'd like to admit. I don't know why it's so hard for me to accept that, but I care about him a great deal more than I care about myself. Does that mean I love him? Hell if I know. I always thought love would be an easier concept than this.

I spent all day avoiding my students' eyes. I couldn't look Ben in the face. I couldn't look anyone in the face, and that's why I stayed in the classroom after dismissing my students for the day. I cannot even face Sawyer—a man who sleeps with practically anything that moves—for fear that my shame will be evident in my eyes.

I have to wipe nervous sweat from my brow as I pretend to grade exams, and I'm startled when Horace knocks on the classroom door. I open it with a welcoming smile, but his usual cheer is nowhere to be found.

"Cora," Horace asks, "could you come see me in my office?"

I feel sick. Enough misfortune has already plagued me today. "Is something wrong?"

"Please, I'd prefer if we spoke there."

* * *

I stare at the small television screen in front of me. The video shows me watching Doctor Who on the television near my living room window. My face is lit up by the TV's glow through the gauze curtains in the living room window. It is the tape Sawyer and I play every night in the security camera slot that points towards my house so it seems as if I'm in my house, when in actuality I am at the Temple. It has been my safeguard this past year in case a crisis happened and tapes needed to be pulled. _But why show me this?_ My palms begin to sweat.

Horace shuts off the tape and stares at me. He still isn't smiling. "You mind telling me everything you did after your class ended yesterday?"

_Nothing much. Went skinny-dipping, had my clothes stolen, became possessed by my best friend's dead wife and ended up cheating on my husband and enjoying it because I'm a piece of shit human being. _"Well," I take a deep breath and lean back in my seat, trying my hardest not to show the turmoil churning inside me, "I went home and started grading papers. Got tired later that evening and turned on my show. Went to sleep around ten."

Horace nods, but his expression makes me think he doubts my story. "You sure do love to watch television," he remarks offhandedly.

"I always watch Doctor Who at night."

"That so? Can't say I blame you. It's creative, I'll give it that much." I wait patiently for him to continue, silently stewing in my own sweat. "The thing is," Horace eventually continues, "Phil was on shift this past week. Night shift. And, well, he started to see a pattern in the security footage for the camera aimed at your house."

"Pattern?"

Horace crosses his arms. "Could you go through your daily ritual before you sit down to watch TV every night?"

Sweat starts to pool on my hairline. "My daily what?"

"What are the little things you do everyday before sitting down to watch your show? You do them religiously. Surely you can remember."

_Breathe. Just breathe. This doesn't mean anything. _A small curt laugh pops out of me. "I don't know! Like you said, I do them everyday. Horace, when I come home from work, I'm exhausted. I'm on autopilot. I wouldn't even be able to give you a full synopsis for the episode I watched." I try to laugh again, but it threatens to choke me.

"The thing is," Horace continues slowly, "Phil went to check to see for himself if the footage was doctored or not, and you weren't at home."

There has to be a way out of this, but I can't think of it. "Maybe there's a problem with your cameras. Technology is so unreliable."

Horace gives me the smallest of humorless smiles. "I think we both know that isn't what happened. Cameras don't malfunction every day for months on end despite our security team trading out tapes every evening."

"What are you saying?"

"I think you know what I'm saying." We sit there, staring each other down, each refusing to relent first. "How long?" he asks.

"What?"

"How long have you been in contact with the Hostiles?"

_This cannot be happening. _"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cora, I think it's best if we're honest with each other from now on." Taking a seat on his desk, Horace leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "How'd you do it?"

It's already over. At this point I need to focus on keeping as many people uninvolved as possible. Keep my friends out of my story. Keep them safe. "I switched out the blank videos each evening before I left the Barracks."

Horace narrows his eyes. "All by yourself?"

"All by myself. My visits to the security station were strictly to gain knowledge on how to run the machines, so I could exchange the clean tapes for my own."

"Who else knows about this? LaFleur? Miles? Any other of your friends from your shipwreck?"

"No," I say quickly. "They didn't know. They don't know. I made sure they were never so much as suspicious. Please . . . it would destroy them if they found out what I've done."

"I've thought of a way around that." Horace reaches back and picks up a folder, tossing in onto my lap. "It's your profile information."

It reads: _Cora June Collins, Educator, Self-Termination of Four-Year Teaching Contract. Mainland destination: Los Angeles._ _Effective immediately._

"You're _banishing_ me?"

"It's the only solution there is." Horace leans in close with another one of those disappointed looks that make my stomach hurt. "We brought you into our community with open arms, and you defied that. The Initiative doesn't have room for members that cannot abide by our rules." Horace sighs heavily. "The real tragedy will be having to find a replacement teacher. Your students love you. They will be really disappointed to find out you're leaving."

I grip the folder tightly in my sweaty hands. "Horace?" I try to look him in the eye like an adult, but the disappointment I find there makes me stare at the ground instead. "You've been nothing but kind to me since I arrived. You trusted me, and for what it's worth I'm so sorry to have betrayed that trust."

"So am I," he says blankly. "You better start packing. Sub leaves tomorrow morning at seven sharp. I'd hate to have to arrange an escort."

* * *

"Sawyer?" I whisper.

He cuts off his cheerful conversation with Juliet and gives me a look. "How many times do I gotta tell you that I go by Jim now?"

"Sawyer," I say more urgently. "Can you please just talk to me privately for a second?"

He takes notice of my hushed tone and adjusts his own voice level. "What's wrong?"

I push back from the dinner table, all smiles. "Thank you for the dinner, Juliet." Without waiting for a response, I walk to the bathroom—the only room in the house with completely solid curtains—and shut the door.

It isn't long before Sawyer follows me in. "What's all this secrecy about?"

I don't bother dancing around it. "They found out."

"Found out what?"

"That I've been leaving every night. Phil noticed the tapes were the same and showed Horace. They know, Sawyer."

"Shit," he whispers, bringing up a hand to run nervously through his hair.

"I told them you had nothing to do with it. You and Juliet and Miles and Jin and the rest of them are all safe. They're sending me to Los Angeles tomorrow. It's the last sub for six months."

Sawyer stands straight up at this. "What?"

"Horace is banishing me from the island. Thinks this is the cleanest way to fix the problem. I'll be gone by seven tomorrow morning."

"Well, hold on now," Sawyer argues. "You ain't going nowhere. Least not without me and Juliet and baby Rachel. We'll go with you."

"No," I interrupt. "There was only one available seat left. Besides," I add with a small smile, "you two have a life here."

"Cora, we're a family. We stick together."

I close my eyes, rushing forward to grab him tightly around the waist. This time when I say the words, there isn't a moment's hesitation or an inkling of regret. "I love you, James."

My embrace has startled him, but he recovers quickly. Sawyer's arms wrap around my back, holding him to me. "Oh, baby girl," he whispers into my hair and kisses the top of my head.

"Sawyer?" I whisper, just in case one of the security members surrounding the house can hear through the walls. "Can you find a way to give this to Richard? It explains everything, so my sudden disappearance doesn't start a war."

That is only partially true. The letter is mostly one long farewell. I asked him to come find me in LA when he has the chance. I'm hoping he can find me quickly and bring me back to the island so my separation from David won't last very long.

"Of course," Sawyer promises. I feel him rest his chin on the top of my hair, and I get a head start on mourning the loss of him.

* * *

I wake up shivering, the drugs in the orange juice I drank still draining out of my system. Strapped to the submarine's hard metal bed I fell asleep on, I struggle to pull at the restraints. It is then that I realize the bed is moving. Light flashes from behind my groggy eyelids, and I force them open.

I am not in a submarine.

Flopping my head from side to side, I try to get a bearing on my surroundings. I pass by cold metal doors, and I swear I'm in a hospital. But that can't possibly be right. _Maybe this is a hallucinogenic side effect of the drugs? _

"Doctor," the woman pushing my gurney says, "she's waking up."

_Did I have a negative reaction to the drugs? Why am I in the hospital? What's going on? _"Am I in Los Angeles yet?" I croak. My tongue is swollen, my throat all dried up.

"Prepare her for questioning," a man in a white lab coat instructs.

_Where the hell am I? _I remember waiting in line for the sub with families returning to the mainland for numerous reasons. I remember drinking the same drugged orange juice as everyone else. I remember climbing down the long ladder leading into the belly of the sub. I remember being strapped to a bed across from a nervous little girl. I smiled at her before finally dozing off.

I notice one of the doctors rushing by me has the Dharma Initiative logo on their coat. "What happened? Why are you wearing an Initiative coat? Where the hell am I? I'm supposed to be in Los Angeles!" I spot Horace through the black spots swirling in my vision, and my stomach plummets. "I'm not going to Los Angeles, am I?"

"No," Horace says, a small smile dancing at the edge of his lips. "We've thought of a better use for you."

I spot a familiar face in the background. "Dr. Freeman," I plead, my voice wavering. "_Stephen?_"

Annie's father graces me with a kind look, and my heart soars with hope that he will stop all of this from happening. We're friends. His daughter loves me. Dr. Freeman will make these lunatics release me.

But instead of giving orders to set me free, Dr. Freeman turns and walks out the double doors. I don't even have time to swear at him before an injection in my arm makes my jaw go slack.


	40. Tormented Mind, Tormented Soul

_DHARMA Initiative_

_Staff Station—Medical Laboratory_

**EXPERIMENT #1**

DATE: 1/9/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 160

INJECTIONS: Diazepam

CASE STUDY NOTES: Subject 33 required double dosage of tranquilizer before medical personnel were able to transfer her to the Staff Station. Upon awakening, 33 preceded to attack medical personnel, even causing harm to herself in the process. Continues to show signs of aggression despite injections of Diazepam.

—Keep subject in secure isolation for 24 hours, or until further notice

—No food or water until further notice

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #2**

DATE: 1/10/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 160

INJECTIONS: Caffeine

CASE STUDY NOTES: Subject 33 reacted negatively to caffeine injections. Resisted interrogation questioning. 33 has mentioned the following names in passing: Ricardo, Marguerite, Sawyer, Jacob.

—Send names to Horace for investigation

—Keep subject in secure isolation for 24 hours, or until further notice

—No food or water until further notice

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #3**

DATE: 1/11/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 159

INJECTIONS: Lysergic Acid Diethylamide

CASE STUDY NOTES: 33 has begun voluntarily answering questions after being injected with Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. All information obtained will be sent directly to Dr. Pierre Chang and Horace Goodspeed in order to better understand the Hostile's way of life.

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #11**

DATE: 1/12/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 157

INJECTIONS: Caffeine

CASE STUDY NOTES: 3lb weight loss since initial capture. Possible side effect of the caffeine injections used for interrogation. Subject believes she has the capabilities to verbally communicate with all animal species. No new information presented regarding the Hostiles way of life or their location. 33 has been cleared for cognitive experimentation on Hydra Island.

—Send 33 to Room 23 for memory wipe

* * *

_DHARMA Initiative_

_Hydra Station—Zoological Experimentation_

**EXPERIMENT #23**

DATE: 2/3/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 150

THEROPY USED: Brain Scan

CASE STUDY NOTES: 10lb weight loss since initial capture. 33 has proven to work best in cognitive experiments when rewarded with food. Subject believes she has the ability to communicate with animals. Brain scans show unusual development of the Broca's area. Cognitive testing results sent to lab for analysis.

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #27**

DATE: 2/15/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 150

THEROPY USED: Subject Isolation With Female Fox

CASE STUDY NOTES: 33 seems to have some sort of verbal communication ability with animals that have not yet been confirmed by the Initiative's head linguist. Studies will be conducted to either confirm or deny her communication is an actual language understood by animal test subjects.

—Send 33 to lab for MIR scan

* * *

**Experiment #34**

DATE: 2/23/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 150

THEROPY USED: Shock Therapy

CASE STUDY NOTES: 33 has established an emotional bond with Dr. Stephen Freeman. Subject remains calm and does not resist belt restraints when Dr. Freeman is near. Dr. Freeman holds conversations with 33 for upwards of 1 hour per day regarding his daughter Annie, a former student of 33. Dr. Freeman is the only known staff member 33 successfully recognizes on a daily basis.

* * *

**Experiment #55**

DATE: 2/31/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 150

THEROPY USED: Shock Therapy

CASE STUDY NOTES: 33 appears to have an electromagnetic pulse similar to the work currently conducted on the Swan Station.

—Contact Swan Station Construction Headquarters and send physicists to conduct further experiments regarding 33's electromagnetism.

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #68**

DATE: 3/12/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 149

THEROPY USED: None

CASE STUDY NOTES: Subject 33 has tested positive in a pregnancy test. Estimated to be at least 3 months.

—Contact medical workers at the Staff Station and question why a pregnancy test was not given immediately upon capture

**CRUCIAL NOTE:** All experimentation on 33 is postponed until further notice. Transfers to Swan Station postponed until further notice.

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #70**

DATE: 3/30/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 152

THEROPY USED: None

CASE STUDY NOTES: 33 has begun gaining back lost weight. Caffeine injections from previous experimentation, as well as intense levels of shock therapy, do not seem to have affected the pregnancy. Further tests will be conducted to ensure healthy fetal growth.

—All experimentation on 33 has been postponed until after childbirth

—Keep subject in a secure isolation

—Diet consists of three pre-rationed meals a day accompanied with a daily total of 64oz water and 11 essential prenatal vitamins

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #75**

DATE: 5/19/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 160

THEROPY USED: None

CASE STUDY NOTES: Despite the halt of all experimentation, 33 continues to struggle with basic facial recognition. May suffer from chronic hallucinations and shows signs of short-term memory loss. Reacts less violently to female staff. Continues to trust only Dr. Freeman. Continues to refer to all staff members as "Ricardo" despite age, racial, or gender differences.

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #84**

DATE: 9/17/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 172

THEROPY USED: None

CASE STUDY NOTES: Subject went into labor a week earlier than expected. The female newborn is healthy and was transferred to the nursery ward until a suitable adoptive family can be arranged.

* * *

**EXPERIMENT #85**

DATE: 9/20/75

NAME: Cora June Collins (Possible Alias)

ID #33

SPECIES: Human (Hostile)

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'1

WEIGHT: 172

THEROPY USED: None

CASE STUDY NOTES: Preparing 33 for shipment to the mainland laboratories upon Dr. Chang's request. 33 has been cleared for electromagnetic experimentation. Dr. Freeman has offered to permanently care for 33's offspring.

—Inject high levels of sedatives to prepare 33 for transportation via sub

—Send Dr. Heisenberg to overlook transportation of 33 so that no cognitive harm comes to her. This will ensure that further cognitive testing at Hydra is not jeopardized.

—Make sure to . . .

* * *

"Breach!" Doctor Scott yells right as the sirens begin to sound. "It's the Hostiles! This is not a drill!"

_They've figured it out. Somehow they've discovered that we lied about sending Cora back to Los Angeles, and now they're here to retrieve her. But how did they find out? Why now? What gave it away? _

I look up from my clipboard and lock eyes with Nurse Sarah. "What do we do, Doctor?" she asks, her voice coated with panic.

"Protocol," I answer as evenly as I can. 9 months. It's been 9 months of hard, grueling work that has kept me up at the crack of dawn more nights than I would have liked. I'm in charge of this experiment, and I cannot let a raid by barbarians send my medical team into a panic. "It's all right, Sarah. Security has been raised to absolute maximum. There's no way a bunch of barefoot lunatics are going to get to us. Everyone retrieve your rifles."

"What about Experiment 33?" she asks.

I look at 33—really look at her—for the first time since she was brought to me for experimentation. Her name was Cora once, but I don't doubt she's forgotten it by now. She's deep in a drug-induced sleep, and that is all I can hope for at the moment.

With one final flicker, the lights shut off, and the room whirs with the sounds of dying machinery. The generator kicks in, and the room glows a pale yellow.

The sound of a snarling wolf throws me off, and I hesitate on my way to the gun cabinet. Before I can react, a huge grey wolf knocks me down and clamps its razor sharp teeth around my throat. As the last flicker of life fades from me, I see him storm into the laboratory.

The one they call Richard.

* * *

"Cora?"

_I know that voice._

"Cora? Cora, can you hear me?"

_I know you._

"Wake up! Cora, you need to wake up!"

_I can't wake up. If I wake up, I'll have to face the electrocution again. I don't want it. Let me sleep._

"Son of a bitch." Someone new is crying, his voice thick with tears. "What have they done to you? What the hell have they done?"

The name finally comes to me. "Sawyer?" I wheeze out, blinking in the yellow hospital lights. My groggy eyes focus on a familiar face, and I flood with an overwhelming sense of peace. "It is you." _Thank you Jesus. Oh, God, thank you. Thank you._

"It's me, baby girl," he confirms and brings one of my hands up to rest against the rough stubble on his cheek. "I'm here."

"I don't want them to shock me anymore." I roll my eyes instinctively to the door, waiting for a doctor to burst in and stab me in the arm with medicine. Instead I find Richard slamming a doctor's head against one of the operating tables again and again until it bursts open bright red like a flower blooming.

_Richard is here. Ricardo will keep me safe._

And then he is beside me, and I can smell the blood on him. His nimble fingers run up and down the length of my arms, smoothing out the ugly raised scars from the electrical burns and constant injections.

Brandon is in my face, licking every inch and yipping cries of joy. I taste blood on his mussel.

A young woman with dots of red splattered all over her cheeks marches in. "Richard, what do you want to do with the rest of them?"

He tears his eyes away from me to reply to the woman. "Can we make it back to the boats without a problem?"

"I believe so," she reports. "Eloise says this half of the island is cleared, so we just have to follow the same path we took to get here. Shouldn't be a problem."

While Richard and Sawyer's attention is elsewhere, I reach out at Richard's side and unsheathe his knife without either of them noticing. It feels good in my hand. Safe. Secure. I tuck it away, instantly feeling indestructible.

Now that I am safe, bits and pieces of memory begin to reform in my brain, slightly scrambled, but there nonetheless. "Where's my baby?"

Richard reaches around to help hoist me to my feet. "David is safe. I left him with Charlie and Gail."

"No," I clarify sleepily. "My baby. They took her away from me."

Unfazed by my ramblings, Richard says, "James, help me carry her."

It dawns on me. "Dr. Freeman." I remember fragments of conversations when I was coherent enough to process what was being said. "Dr. Freeman is taking care of her. We have to go find Dr. Freeman."

"James, can you get her arm?"

"NO!" I screech so high pitched my voice cracks. "I'm not going anywhere until I find her!"

"Find who?" Richard questions, finally stopping to give me his full attention.

I grit my teeth in rabid frustration. "My daughter! _Where the hell are they keeping my daughter?"_

I wait patiently for an answer, but you'd think I'd have asked for directions to the moon.

I don't have time for this.

With a freakish surge of newfound energy, I rip away from the both of them and slam against a wall, growling and slashing the air with Richard's stolen knife when they try to help support me. Slowly I straighten my spine, the vertebrae crackling.

"Move," I order, and the woman standing in the doorway jumps back. I shuffle out into the hallway. "Come, Brandon," I yell over my shoulder. "I'm going to need your help."

* * *

I kill them all. It feels so good to hear them scream and beg. I kill them all with Brandon's help. All but Dr. Freeman.

I keep Dr. Freeman alive. I like Dr. Freeman. Dr. Freeman is my friend. Dr. Freeman has kept her safe. He kept her safe, so I allow him to live.

Dear God, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in all my life, but she doesn't look a thing like me. All of her features were inherited from Richard—dark black hair, eyebrows, eyes, and eyelashes. She has my mother's facial structure and slightly olive skin, and for that I am proud. I watch her part her lips in a massive yawn, cooing at the sight of me.

Despite the drugs flowing through my veins and the adrenaline from my recent slaughtering, I am gentle. I don't want to break her. I know what I'm doing, but they take her anyway. At first I think Richard just wants to hold her, but then he doesn't give her back. He says it is for my own good.

"I need to feed her," I tell him.

"Your milk is drugged," he answers, and he walks away.

I follow him to the canoes at the edge of the beach, but he doesn't give her back. He won't even ride in the same canoe as me.

I think I might have to kill him.


	41. A Rose By Any Other Name

_"I don't feel right about this!" James bellows from across the room. "Richard, let's at least reunite her with her damn child!"_

_ I hold my baby closer to my chest. "Juliet, if you are willing to volunteer your child as a test subject to ensure Cora's current mental state poses no threat, then I would be more than happy to follow suit." The woman widens her eyes and takes a step back, clutching protectively at her own child. I shoot James a smirk. "I thought not."_

_ "A mother should not be separated from her child," James argues. "You're only going to make this worse!"_

_"Richard . . . I agree with James," Juliet adds quietly. "Surely there's a way to do this safely."_

_ Neither of them knows my ties to the child, and I don't care to inform them. I don't care to inform anyone. In fact, James and Juliet are the only people who know Cora has a child. I haven't even told Eloise. "This is neither one of your concern," I snap defensively. "You listen to me, and you listen closely. I will make sure the child is cared for, and that's all you need to know. I don't want you discussing this with anyone, including Cora, understand?"_

_ James scrunches up his face. "Yeah? And why're you suddenly so interested in her little stork delivery?"_

_ "Because it's his," Juliet remarks softly. "I thought you would have caught on by now."_

_ "It . . she . . ." But James cannot form the questions and comments he wishes to speak, and all he can get out is, "You!?"_

_ I give them both a warning glance and lower my voice. "You must tell no one. No one, understand? As far as you both know, Cora doesn't have a child."_

_ James shifts his weight from off the kitchen wall and strides towards me. "Have you lost your damn mind?"_

_ "Richard—" Juliet begins, but her attention shifts down the hall._

_ Thumping and a loud crash echoes in from down the hallway. All three of us turn to confirm that the blockade we created to keep Cora secured in her room has not been compromised. I can hear her unstable screeches from our spot at the kitchen table, the furthest room from her own. Her screams pierce through the air like knives—all of her threats directed at me._

_ I raise my eyebrows at Juliet, and she at least has the decency to look away. "As soon as you think of a way to ensure our child will be safe in her arms, please share. I'm all ears." I push up out of my seat and walk to the front door. Each step sends me further away from Cora, and yet somehow her threats only seem to get louder, until they are a constant ring in my skull._

* * *

_ I find him gathering coconuts for storage._

_ "Morning, Richard." Jacob's face brightens when he sees the child in my arms. "And who might this be?"_

_ I had planned a big, long speech about what had happened, but I find when I open my mouth to explain, I cannot._

_ "You look troubled, my friend." Jacob's expression slowly turns to worry, and he has to guide me to the foot statue so I can sit._

_ "Jacob," I manage to choke out, "I need your help. I don't know what to do."_

_ "About what? You haven't told me what's wrong yet."_

_ I shift the baby girl in my arms, exposing her face for him to see. "This is my daughter."_

_ "Now, when you say 'your daughter', do you mean you actually helped produce her?" I give a slight nod, and Jacob raises his brows at the revelation. "I'm assuming the mother is who I think she is?"_

_I turn and stare straight ahead at the sand._

_ "Why is she not with Cora?" he asks. "Wouldn't that be for the best?"_

_ "No," I say quietly. "It would not be for the best. Cora isn't well at the moment, and I don't want our child anywhere near the Barracks. If these people . . . if any of the Initiative were to escape . . . Jacob, I've been alive a long time. I have enemies. Cora has enemies. If anyone wanted to hurt us, they'd go after—"_

_ I can tell by his pitying stare that Jacob has noticed my rapidly watering eyes. "She can stay with me," he offers. "For as long as you need."_

_ "What do you know about babies?" I challenge. "What do either of us know about raising children?"_

_ "Give me some credit, Richard. You've been alive for many years, but I've been alive a lot longer than you have." Without warning, Jacob scoops up my daughter and holds her firmly to his chest. "She'll be safe here. I give you my word. Come back when you've figured out what it is you'd like to do next."_

_ I swallow the burning lump in my throat, struggling to clear my mind. Already I can hear Cora's accusations—some in English, some in Spanish, some in Italian, and some in a guttural animalistic gibberish. Anytime she catches sight of me she lashes out with a lethal and unbridled fury the likes I've never before seen. Our last meeting ended with her losing a fingernail after trying to shred through the door's wood to "dig my eyes out with her bare hands." I don't doubt she wishes me dead for trying to keep our child safe. Her maternal instincts are strong, but her mental state is too fragile to comprehend that I'm doing this because I love her, and I know she would want me to protect her child at all costs—even if it means separating them._

_ I need to get back to the Barracks, speak with her friends, and figure this all out._

_ "Richard?" Jacob calls, and I spin back around to face him. "You haven't told me her name."_

_ I try to think of a name Cora would deem worthy of her firstborn, but in the end there is no competition. It is the name of the early British author she read the most—the author we loved to discuss together. "Jane," I say. "Her name is Jane."_

* * *

I used to sing the songs of my people—the lullabies of my mother.

I don't sing those kinds of songs anymore.

Now I sing the songs of the doctors.

Everyday during my sessions, Dr. Small would play his old records over the speakers in the operating room. I didn't like it at first, but it soon became the only thing I could cling to so I could keep my mind off the pain.

One song in particular plays on repeat in my memory, over and over until it is nothing more than background noise. _I'm the Boogie Man—the terrible, horrible, Boogie Man. I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you. Beware, better have a care—I'm going to follow you everywhere. I crawl through the ceiling and the walls and call on bad little girls like you._

I sense movement outside my door and jerk my head up, my greasy hair falling in dirty strands over my face. Every muscle in my legs tighten with the anticipation of leaping towards whatever thinks they can enter this room. _Try it try it I dare you_ A deep growl grows from the back of my throat. The foxes taught me well.

I smell Richard before I see him, and my first instinct is to _kill him kill him kill him and get her back I can smell you I know it's you, you son of a bitch you took her away from me I must destroy you like I did the doctors I will rip your throat out with my bare teeth_

"Stop," Richard comments dryly from the dark doorway. His figure is nothing but a shadowy outline of his body. I broke all of the light bulbs in this room. "Cora, come down from there, and let's talk."

I sit curled up on a dresser, high up so I can see the entire room, my back pressed tightly against the wall so nothing can sneak up behind me. Visions flash vibrant behind my eyelids—_God loves you as he loved Jacob_—and then just as quickly as they appear, they vanish. I stare at Richard through the blonde strands of hair covering my face. I silently watch him, playing over how I shall get past him into the place where they keep my daughter.

Thinking about her makes another deep growl rumble up my throat, vibrating my entire body.

My favorite animals to talk to during experiments were the foxes. I became good friends with Subject 4 while I was in the lab. The foxes taught me much about my own body. With their guidance I was able to get close enough to bite a chunk of a nurse's nose off. I now know I could pierce through skin and rip Richard's throat out with the sheer power of my jaw—if I wanted to.

Right now I want to.

* * *

_ Cora watches me in the darkness as an animal would. She has climbed up on a dresser and refuses to come down. Aside from the occasional swear word, she will not speak English. Twice she has tried to bite me, and when I ask her questions I'm rewarded with a sharp snap of her jaw._

_I know what it is she wants, but I cannot give it to her while she remains in this state._

_ "Cora, please come down from there."_

_ She shrinks away, this time baring her teeth in warning._

_ "Cora, I can't help you if you don't let me."_

_ I almost don't slip behind the door quick enough. The strength of her force fighting against the door keeps me from sliding the bolt shut, and it takes me three times before I can secure it. This time instead of screaming threats, all is silent._

_ "Any better?" James asks with a wavering sense of hope._

_ "No." I shake my head with a mounting desire to hit something. "I think it's time I spoke to Horace. Can you please give me the keys to his jail cell?"_

* * *

I've always loved animals. When I was a child, I begged my mother for animal print wallpaper. Rainy nights were spent gazing longingly at the elephants and monkeys and rhinos as the shadows cast by passing storms would make the pictures dance and play. I used to fall asleep watching them have adventures and dream that I was one of them. They were my best friends for the majority of my life.

I used to have friends. This much I remember.

I know that I feel calm around Sawyer and the blonde woman who follows him around. I know I'm currently locked in a room that was once mine. I recognize the decorations. The clothes in the closet smell of me.

Deep down I know that the doctors can no longer hurt me, but it doesn't stop the shivers and it doesn't stop the bad thoughts.

I have bad thoughts when Richard is near. Seeing him makes me want to hurt people.

* * *

_ "Hello, Richard." Horace greets me with a smile. He sticks his arms through the bars of the jail cell and presses his face in the space between them. "What can I do for you?"_

_ I stare at his eyes for a long time, gathering myself. It takes all my willpower not to twist his neck around until it snaps. "I want to know everything that was done to her," I command. "Everything. Every shot. Every shock. Every scan. Every poke and prod and prick. Every medical chart that was written up. I want it all."_

_ Horace remains calm, even daring to emit a small chuckle. "I'm head of security, Richard. I'm not tied to Hydra Island's experiments, you know that."  
His whole body slams forward as I yank the collar of his shirt toward me with great force. The Initiative members standing behind him push back against the far wall, happily abandoning their leader. "The doctors responsible for recording that information are now dead. I think you might want to rethink your answer. Your life now depends on the information I'm seeking." I release his collar and give him a sharp shove away from me. He stumbles back into a shivering woman. "I'll bring food and water for everyone once you've supplied me with what I need. Until then, good luck."_

_ I exit the Security Headquarters, flicking off the lights before closing and locking the doors behind me._

* * *

I remember more today.

I remember a boy. A small child. A happy child with glasses.

Memories make my head pound into oblivion as the child shifts from boy to adult again and again until I double over and vomit in the corner of my room. There isn't much to vomit, but the acid I manage to cough up smells putrid.

My body won't stop shivering. Visions come again, slicing through my brain like a dull butter knife. _Rethink your life. _Memories are being blocked. _God loved you as he loved Jacob. _I need to reach them. _We are the causes of our own suffering. _They're right there, but I can't reach them.

A knock at my door sends me flying under the bed.

* * *

_ She's hidden under the bed, shivering despite the fact that Juliet has cranked the thermostat to 92 degrees. "I've brought you some food."_

_ Cora doesn't hiss or growl or snap her teeth at me, and I fill with a foolish need to approach her._

_ Instead, I leave the tray of food on the floor in front of her hiding space. A pale hand creeps out and yanks the tray under the bed. I hear the sounds of chewing. It isn't long before the tray slides back out, empty._

* * *

I remember more about the boy. His name is Ben, and he is a friend.

I remember the blonde woman's name—Juliet—but I don't remember her baby. She's such a pretty baby. She can stand now without any help. They call her Rachel.

It's not so lonely in this room anymore. I have lots of friends to talk to. There's Isabella, Goodwin, Ana, Kate, Cecily, a blonde woman named Emily, and a pretty man named Boone. Richard cannot see them. I don't think he likes me talking to them.

Richard doesn't make me as angry anymore. He comes and talks with me sometimes. He tells me strange tales about things I've done and places I've been, but I don't remember any of it. A memory resurfaces every once in a while, and I wait until he leaves before I cry because the memories always get blocked by the doctors' messages: _You don't have a name. You are 33. Talk to the fox. What did it say? Talk to the rabbit. What did it say? Talk to the dolphin. Good dolphin. Dolphins swim. Dolphins are nice. Dolphins are funny if you know what to say._

My invisible friends try to convince me the memories are true, but I don't know what to believe anymore.

"Cora?"

I shrink away from Richard and his memories. They hurt my head. I don't want them.

* * *

_ "33 is in position, doctor."_

_ "Good," a voice says. "Bring in the fox."_

_ I watch the television screen as the camera focused on Cora's designated room zooms in to show her crouching next to a fox. The two of them exchange words, Cora speaking and the fox barking a reply, and the unseen doctors observing in the background grumble and discuss their theories about the unusual structure of Cora's brain._

_ Another video shows Cora hooked up to a monitor. Long metal wires sit attached to some sort of helmet placed on the top of her head. The doctors ask her questions, and when they receive answers they do not like, they push a button and Cora's back arches off the table, her screams lasting long after the doctors shut the machine down._

_ I shut off the recording and shove the television away from me. It squeaks on its unstable wheels and totters off across the room, bouncing against the far wall._

_ I should have figured it out sooner. I should have realized something was wrong. My people were in a panic when Cora left without so much as a warning. James handed me a vague letter telling me to come find her in Los Angeles. It took days to convince the Temple not to wage war with the Initiative. Many did not believe that Cora had written the letter._

_ And so I went to Los Angeles upon Jacob's return to the island. His absence had been the longest three months I've ever had to endure, but when he finally returned, he agreed to help me search. When we returned empty-handed, I was approached once again by James LaFleur. The man was so hysterical I could barely understand anything that came out of his mouth. He explained his position within Dharma as head of security, and when he finally told me about his discovery of where Cora was being held—a secret that would jeopardize both his and his friends' safety—I knew what had to be done._

_ Our original plan was to simply storm the Barracks and hold the Initiative hostage until we could agree on what to do with them, but Cora changed that plan. Cora slaughtered every doctor, scientist, and janitor in the laboratory she was being held in. When word got back to the mainland, the Initiative organized a manhunt with orders to kill any of us on sight. Every available member of our society was called upon to defend our people. The Initiative may have had better weapons and more members, but we have been here long before them. We know this island inside and out, and in the end they never stood a chance._

_ The Dharma members not sent out to fight have all been shoved in jail cells and the rec room. Eloise and I have not yet discussed their fate._

_ "This is my fault."_

_ "This isn't your fault," James sighs._

_ I didn't mean to speak aloud, but now that it's out in the open, there's no point in denying it. "I'm a fool. I should have figured it out sooner."_

_ James slams the palms of his hands against the wall. "If you're a fool, then I'm a damn fool. I'm head of the damn security. I should have figured it out months ago."_

_ "Blaming yourself isn't going to make her well again," Juliet speaks up. "James, hold Rachel. I'd like to talk to Cora."_

* * *

I turn Juliet's hand this way and that way, admiring her wedding ring. I remember to be extra gentle with her. People don't like it when I'm not gentle. "This is a nice ring."

She smiles warmly at me. "You think so?"

I speak English now because people don't respond well to fox lingo. My growls and teeth bearing were never well received by my human friends. "I don't remember your wedding." I think hard—hard enough to bring purple up behind my eyelids—but the memory of their wedding doesn't exist.

Juliet retracts her hand, looking embarrassed. "Oh, well, we were married . . . while you were . . . away."

"In the laboratory," I clarify. Nobody seems to want to say exactly where I was, as if saying it makes it real and denying it means it never happened. "At Hydra."

"Yes," she says uncomfortably.

"Why won't Richard let me have my daughter back?"

I watch the flush rush up Juliet's throat and spread to her cheeks. "Cora . . . we all understand that you've been through a very, very traumatic event. I—we think it would be for the best interest of the both of you if we let you calm down a little bit more before giving her back. You wouldn't want to accidently hurt her, would you?"

A hiss comes shooting out of me before I can remind myself to use my people words. "No," I tell her truthfully, "I would never hurt her."

"I don't believe you would ever intentionally hurt her." Juliet takes both my hands and squeezes them between her long fingers. "Cora, would you like to go outside?"

* * *

_I shake my head with finality. "She's not ready."_

_"It's not healthy for her to be stuck in that room all day long. You read the charts, Richard. That's what they did. Hours upon days upon weeks in solidary confinement." Juliet swivels around to face me. "Hasn't she suffered enough?"_

_ "It's out of the question."_

_ "Richard," James joins in, "all three of us will be watching her. Your people are aware of what happened and have enough common sense to run if she gets away from us. Which she won't," he adds. "I say it's worth a shot."_

* * *

Today Richard is letting me go outside on one condition.

"You must stay with at least one of us at all times," he says. "James, Juliet, and I will be happy to go anywhere you want. You just have to ask."

They make me wear sunglasses because I haven't seen the sun in almost a year. I don't mind. Even with the protective eyewear I have to squint to keep the pain tolerable, but I don't care. This is exciting.

I hold onto Richard's hand with my right and Sawyer's hand with my left. Juliet walks behind me at my request, so nobody can sneak up and try to inject me with something. People I've never met before stop and wave at me, wishing me a good afternoon. It's frightening how many strangers try to talk to me, and my hands begin to sweat. Richard tells them to go away.

And then I see him and I stop. The jumpsuit. He is one of THEM.

* * *

_ "She's got a knife!"_

_ "Run!"_

_ My people scramble out of the way, some even climbing up onto rooftops, as Cora breaks away from me and sprints towards Horace. I try to tackle her, but her determination cannot be stopped. Horace is dead long before James and I pull her off his mangled body and wrestle the knife out of her hands._

* * *

Richard is angry with me, but I don't care. Horace is dead. This is good.

I let them drag me away back to my room, but not before I see him watching me from a nearby porch.

The boy with the glasses.

* * *

_Cora hasn't taken off the polar bear cloak since I gave it to her. She doesn't remember its origins, but I suppose that doesn't matter. The Temple released Marguerite into the jungle shortly after Cora was captured. The bear had become unruly without Cora's guidance. I had hoped finding her would further Cora's memory retrieval, but I have so far been unsuccessful in my search for the cub._

_I point to one of Cora's drawings. "Who is this?"_

_ "The boy with the glasses," she answers without looking up._

_ "Does this boy have a name?"_

_ "Ben," Cora answers. She scribbles another drawing of him and reaches for more paper. "He's my friend."_

* * *

As soon as Richard leaves my room, I pull out a screwdriver and begin working at the metal bars Sawyer put in my windows.

I don't like talking to my invisible friends anymore. Sometimes if they get too close, I stop thinking my own thoughts and start thinking theirs. It frustrates me because I'm having a hard enough time keeping my own memories straight.

I don't need anyone else's.

* * *

_"Do either of you know who this is?"_

_ James takes the picture from my fingers and exchanges a weary glance with Juliet. "He's staying with us."_

_ "Bring him here," I say. "I think he might be able to help."_

_ James and Juliet lock eyes again, and Juliet tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth._

_ "What?"_

_ James clears his throat. "Well, Eyeliner, I don't think putting them in the same room is such a good idea."_

_ I eye them both, searching for the answer to this riddle. "Why is that? She has drawn endless pictures of him. He's someone she remembers. He may be the key to breaking through this mental blockage."_

_ "She remembers him because—" James stops short._

_ "Because what?" I'm growing tired of this game. "What are you two not telling me?"_

_ James looks at his wife one last time before sighing loudly and throwing his hands in the air. "It's because they're married. Not right now," he adds hastily. "In the future."_

_ I stare at them both with a blank expression. "I'm sorry, in the what?"_

_ James flips a kitchen chair around and sits on it backwards. "Listen, dream boat . . . that boy is going to grow up to be her husband. Throwing him in her room is going to fill her head up with so many memories, she'll be liable to explode. You really think it's a good idea to put him in danger like that? He might be the key to making her well again, but there's a time and a place for everything, and right now ain't the time or the place."_

_ I do not even register the gist of what James has said. My mind cannot move past the word 'husband'._

* * *

I've loosened all of the screws in my window, so when the time is right, I can escape. I remember so much more now. My memories are like a puzzle—they come in odd shapes and angles, and it's up to me to fit them together so they make sense. So far I know only a few details that my brain deems important enough to shove to the forefront.

I must save Walt. I do not know who Walt is, but I need to protect him.

Birds will kill my enemies. I must befriend them.

I need the Initiative members responsible for construction on the Swan Station to stay on the island. Everyone else can go drown for all I care.

I tell Richard this, and he nods in agreement even though I don't think he knows what I'm talking about.

I spend many hours listening in on conversations. One day I hear the name _Ben, _so I decide to ask Richard about it.

"He's staying with me," says Richard. "I moved into the house across the way." He points through the wall, as if this is all the direction I need.

"Can I see him?"

"Not right this moment. Soon, if you continue to feel better."

I sit up straight. "I feel better."

Richard looks agitated.

* * *

_ The boy is plain, short, and seventy pounds soaking wet. His rounded spectacles never leave the bridge of his nose, and his brown hair swoops over his forehead. I resist the urge to chop the long strands off with scissors._

_ "More peas?"_

_ "Thank you, Mr. Alpert."_

_ He's polite, I'll give him that._

_ "Have you come to a decision?"_

_ He nods passionately. "Yes, sir. I want to stay here."_

_ It was at Cora's request that the remaining Dharma members be shipped off the island, unharmed. "And your father?"_

_ Ben drops his fork. "He's not staying, is he?"_

_ "I was just going to ask if you'd like to say goodbye."_

_"Oh." He pauses to think. "No."_

_ "Are you sure?" I ask. "This may be the last time you ever see him."_

_ Ben looks out the window. "Good."_

* * *

I'm free. I'm free, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me.

With Emily's help, I find Ben's bedroom window. He's lying on his bed with a small white rabbit balanced on his stomach. I tap the glass with a fingernail and duck down low in case Richard is near. Ben doesn't open the window. I whisper his name and tap again. With a small squeak, I hear him unlock the window and pull it open.

I leap in through the window and land near the bed. For some reason, Ben's hair is shorter than usual. I tousle it and say, "I like your new haircut."

"Miss Collins?"

"Shhhhhh!" I warn and quickly cover his mouth with a hand. "Do you want me to get thrown back into the slammer?"

Instead of being happy to see me, he looks terrified. "Miss Collins," he stammers, pointing a shaking finger at the cape I'm wearing, "what is that?"

Richard told me all about this cape. "His name was Alabaster." I fluff the fur and do a quick spin. "Isn't he gorgeous?" I frown at his horrified expression. "I didn't kill him if that's what you're wondering."

Ben backs up and bumps against the bedpost. "You killed Horace."

_What? I did?_ "Aw, shit. I did, didn't I? Damn it." I smack my forehead with the palm of my hand. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It was that damn jumpsuit . . . makes me go crazy, you know? I am getting better, though."

I take a good look around his room. A picture of a little redheaded girl sparks memories, and I serge with emotions. _This girl is a friend. Annie. No, Granger. She is Granger because she is as inquisitive as Hermione. _"Hey, where's Granger?"

Ben gets quiet. "She left . . . with her family. On the subs."

I set the picture back down on his desk and turn to face him. "What? When?"

"Two weeks ago."

He's angry with me. I can tell. I let out a long sigh and sit at the edge of his bed. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I want you to know that." Ben cautiously approaches and takes a seat next to me. I close my eyes and think—think about my parents and siblings and lack of friends back in the real world. I think about the fact that I have a baby and I can't even recall when and why I chose to have her with Richard. I'm sick of people telling me who I am because my brain is incapable of remembering for me. "I've had a really shitty life, Ben. A really shitty life. I'm trying to make sure yours is better than mine ever was." A flash of my pale white skin peeks out from the fur, and I tug the cloak tighter around myself to hide the disgusting burn marks and injection sights. I am a hideous monster, and now Ben knows just how ugly the doctors made me. "You're going to yell, aren't you?" I ask flatly.

I prepared for this. Quick as a flash I have a scarf covering his mouth. "One of these days everything is going to make sense. I promise. Come on, kiddo." I pick Ben up and sling him over a shoulder, already heading for the window. "It's time I teach you how to fight."

* * *

They're everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. The invisible people watch the both of us as we walk through the jungle. I don't tell Ben they're there. Richard didn't like me talking to them, so I assume nobody does. Most of them don't speak to me anyway, so I try to ignore them. There are people of every age and gender and race, and most do not speak English. Even though they say nothing, they follow me with curious expressions. I want them to leave me alone, but at least Isabella stays beside me and shoos away anyone that gets too close.

"We are gonna have so much fun," I tell Ben. I've figured out how to right all these wrongs I've committed. I'll make everything right again. I'll make sure nobody ever has the opportunity to mistreat Ben the way I have been. "I'm gonna teach you all sorts of neat stuff. Did you know you can break someone's arm just by hitting it at a certain angle? Oh, this'll be a blast."

"Miss Collins, I want to go home."

We walk for a long while before I hear my name and surge with memories. _I remember you. I remember!_

"Ohhhhh," I coo into the darkness. "There's my baaaaaby! Who is mommy's good little baby?"

"Mama!" Marguerite scampers out of the trees and tackles me, rubbing her forehead against mine in greeting. When she notices Ben, she hurries behind my legs. "It's a human, mama! What is he doing here? The humans took you away from me."

"Don't be afraid," I soothe. "He's a trustworthy human. You don't have to be afraid of him, Marguerite. I promise." I wave Ben over to my side. "Say hello to Marguerite. You two are going to be the best of friends." When he doesn't move, I say, "You have to rub your foreheads together. That's how they say hello." Marguerite barely taps her head to Ben's before darting back behind me. "She doesn't like humans," I explain. "Can't say I blame her. I'm not very fond of them myself."

"CORA?" a furious voice booms from behind us, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Richard comes crashing through the trees, wielding a flashlight, and he quickly yanks Ben behind him. "Ben, are you hurt?"

The light. The light _it burns! _Light means _they _are coming! I scream and curl up tightly in a ball beside Marguerite.

"Damn it." Richard fumbles to shut off the light. "It's off, it's off, I'm sorry. I've turned it off."

_I was so careful. _I peek my head out and ask, "How did you find me?"

Richard's steady voice sounds through the empty space between the three of us. "James and Juliet got a call that the fence was down. Who else would be wandering around this late at night? As soon as they confirmed you were not in your room, I set out. You didn't have that much of a head start."

I pull the cape back a little more and frown. "I'm not going back to that room."

"Nobody said you have to stay in your room."

"I can't go back to that room, Richard. I'll go crazy."

"Remember what we talked about?" he asks. "You're allowed to leave the house. You just have to have one of us with you."

They haven't let me outside since I killed Horace, but I've been better since then. Maybe they really _will_ let me out again if I ask nicely. "Okay. But I'm taking Marguerite with me."

I hear Richard sigh. "Cora—"

"No!" I shriek, clinging protectively to Marguerite. "You can't take her away from me!"

"Nobody is going to take her away from you. But she needs to be kept secure. You can't have a bear as a pet."

Memories of cages, cages, death, pain. This is the final straw. "I WILL NOT PUT HER IN A CAGE!"

"Alright. Alright." Richard relents, slowly making his way towards me. He's using his _compromise _voice. "We'll keep her inside your house. But, Cora, should anything happen—"

"Marguerite would never hurt a fly," I snarl. "I'm not going back to the Barracks if she can't come with me."

"Alright then. Bring her."

"I can?" I ask in disbelief. And then, because I can no longer help it, I begin to cry.

Richard has gotten close enough to wrap me a hug. He rests his chin on the top of my head, and I remember a confusing memory—something about shelves of books. "You shouldn't be out here by yourself. We've already talked about this. It's not healthy. You promised you would give the community a try."

"I am trying," I whisper and open my eyes to find more invisible people have gathered around to see what all the commotion is about. I cling tighter to Richard. "I just . . . they scare me, Richard. They all scare me." I want them to go away, but they won't. And then, just when I was starting to suppress it, the doctors' messages come pounding to the forefront of my brain. "I still hear it. No matter who it is, no matter what they look like, I still hear it pounding through my head. I thought I was getting better, but then I close my eyes and it's all too much and I can't stand to be around any of them. I thought leaving might help. I shouldn't have dragged Ben into it, but I thought maybe if I could get my mind off of it, teach him how to defend himself, or something. I just . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"Would you like me to sing?" he asks softly and begins reciting my mother's lullaby before I have the chance to answer.

This memory I remember best of all—the memory of my mother—and I'm lulled into compliance. I don't even notice that I'm back in my room until I hear the bolt lock shut.

I sit on my floor and think. I will spend all night thinking if I have to, but there are holes in my brain—pieces of memory that should be there but are not. I begin to worry that the memories I've managed to remember will start to disappear into the holes. I need to remember them, but paper isn't permanent.

Using a metal hanger I hid from my friends, I etch messages to myself above my doorway. If I repeat it before going to sleep every night, then I won't forget it. Maybe it will even help me remember the memory of why I need to befriend birds.

I kick a hole in the back of my closet and hide it with a school poster I find in one of my drawers. Here is where I shall keep my memories. Here is where I will keep the things I don't want taken away from me.


	42. All The Bright Places

A salty sea breeze sifts through my hair and dries the sweat on my face. It has been three months since I was liberated from Hydra Island and two weeks since I've been able to go outside without the aid of sunglasses. Richard still accompanies me on my walks around the Barracks, but I've stopped begrudging his attention. I realize now just how dangerous and unstable I've been.

There are rules I must follow to help keep me from a relapse: I am not allowed to have caffeine in any amount, I am not allowed to use toasters or ovens or any major appliance that may spark and cause a fire, I may leave my house at my own discretion, but I cannot leave beyond the borders of the sonic fence without Richard with me, and I am not permitted to look after other peoples children.

The rules, however, fail to mention my own children.

"Cora?" Richard calls with an outstretched hand. He's noticed I've stopped walking, and his face darkens with worry. "What's wrong?"

I'm retreating. I can't do this. _What if I have a relapse? _My feet hurry away from Jacob's lair where my daughter is being cared for. I hurry away from the foot statue with a surmounting anxiety.

Richard quickly catches up to me and restrains me to keep from disappearing into the jungle. "Hey, it's okay."

"No, it's not okay," I lash out.

"Nothing is going to happen. I'll be right there."

"What if something _does_ happen?"

Richard holds me firmly by the shoulders. "She's your daughter," he says with conviction. "You won't hurt her."

Hearing him say it helps, but the fear that he's wrong is still overwhelming. Face crumpling, I try my best not to succumb to tears. "I'm scared."

"I know." He takes hold of my hand and begins guiding me back to our destination.

Seeing her changes everything. _How could I have even for a second thought that staying away was the right answer?_ Seeing her makes me realize I cannot, from this moment on, live without her.

"I want to feed her," I say to nobody in particular. With no baby to drink my milk, my breasts have been painfully swollen and leaking a steady stream down my shirts. It took weeks for the pain to subside, and only recently for the milk to quit its production. Still, the motherly urge is still there.

"Cora," Richard says, sounding nervous, "we talked about that."

"Here, use this." Jacob hands me a bottle of milk he was warming over the fire. "I was about to feed her anyway."

I hold the bottle steady and gently nudge it against her lips. Fluttering eyelashes signals she's awake, and she accepts the bottle happily, draining the milk with impressive speed.

Hot tears roll down my face, but nobody comes near me or tries to calm me with words of comfort. I am thankful for their silence. I don't want anything to interrupt this moment. _How can some parents not love their own children? Doesn't every mother feel this way? Don't they all choke on the uncontained rapture of merely holding their child in their arms? _I will never understand humans.

"I named her Jane." Richard studies my expression to see if I'm pleased. "I hope that's alright."

_Jane._ Recognition comes and goes like a fragment of a dream. It feels familiar, somehow. Maybe one day I will remember why. I hold Jane to my chest and give Richard my most reassuring smile. "It's perfect."

* * *

Seeing Hydra Island again is worse than I feared it would be. I'm still not entirely sure how I convinced Richard to let me go with them. I argued I was the only one able to talk the escaped experiments into joining our community. Most of the animals already trust me. They know I was a prisoner just as much as they were.

Any sound, no matter how small or insignificant, makes me leap three feet in the air. Brandon stays protectively by my side, and Richard periodically reminds me that he is following in the blind spot behind me.

Hydra Island used to be void of animal chatter, but now the trees are full of it. Birds I freed from cages in the laboratory have made homes for themselves in the branches above. They call to me when I pass by, and I acknowledge them with a quick hello.

It isn't long before I befriend a family of lab mice, a pair of rabbits, and a lone skunk. Sweat gathers on my lip as we reach the wide metal doors that lead to the last place on earth I want to be. Dried blood leads a crackled trail out of the laboratory and into the jungle.

"What happened here?" I ask.

"You did," Richard answers. I turn and stare at him with confusion. "You don't remember."

"No." I shake my head. "Well, not exactly. I . . . I think I remember some of it." Nudging open the door with my shoulder, I step into the lab. Blood covers the floor in streaks and splatters against the walls, but there isn't a single human corpse. "Where are the bodies?"

"We buried them."

Hot pressure rises in my chest like a swelling balloon. I breathe in deep through my nose, but it does nothing to calm my panic attack. In only two short steps, I've collapsed against a wall, sucking in air like it's a rarity.

Brandon licks my face. "My lady? Lady Cora!" Persistent nudges help bring me back from my memories. "My lady, you are ill. Would you like me to go on ahead and alert you of any stragglers I find?"

"Yes," I pant, feeling foolish and embarrassed that I won't be of any help. I watch Brandon trot down the hallway, sniffing the air.

"Drink." Richard offers me a canteen, and I gulp the water greedily. Its coolness helps extinguish the flames burning deep within. "Do you want to leave?"

"I want to sit for a while. The noise is back." I bring my hands up to my temples and massage them in little circles. _We are the cause of our own suffering. _I fight against the flashes, the fragmented memories. _Rethink your life. _Not even aggressive pounding against my skull will silence the noise. _You don't have a name. You are experiment 33._

Richard pulls my hands down away from my head in an effort to keep me from beating myself to death. I'm about to thank him when Brandon comes bounding back down the hallway.

"There is a large bird in the last room. The door is closed, my lady. It may be locked."

After helping me to my feet, Richard leads the way to an unfamiliar room I was never taken to for experimentation. Through the small window in the door, I watch as a magnificent eagle-like creature flaps its heavy wings and soars from one side of the room to the other.

"Hurley Bird?"

"Do you know this creature?" Richard asks.

"Help me open the door." Bracing a foot against the nearest wall, I grab hold of the door handle and yank with all my might. Slowly, and very loudly, the door scrapes against the floor until I've created a gap wide enough to slip through.

"Keep away from me," Hurley Bird threatens the moment he spots me. He perches on a metal pipe in a high corner of the room. "Keep away from me, human, if you know what's good for you."

Tiny bones litter the floor, answering all my initial questions about how he has survived for so long in this room. Hurley Bird has been hunting the escaped lab mice. Their digested corpses lie scattered at my feet.

"Hello, my friend," I greet him with a wave.

"You are no friend of mine," he retorts with a mighty flap of his wings.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You are a human. That is all I need to know."

"The humans who captured you and stuffed you in a cage . . . those same humans captured and caged me as well." I point to his left wing. "Are you injured? You favor your right wing when you fly."

"You, furry mammal," Hurley Bird addresses Brandon. "You walk alongside this human with an air of trust. Explain yourself."

"If your question is addressed to me," Brandon barks, "then the answer is because she is my friend. Who do you think broke open the cages throughout this place? Why are the trees now full of ceaseless chatter from your own feathery relatives? Come down from there, you stupid bird. She's here to help you."

Hurley Bird's beak parts to emit a terrible shill squawk. "How dare you speak to me in such a way, you foolish mutt! Anyone who fraternizes with humans is no friend of mine."

"At least let me help heal your wing," I plead. "What must I do to win your trust?"

The enormous bird ruffles his brown feathers in agitation. "There is nothing you can do to make me trust anything you say."

I look around and smile. "You're out of mice. Soon you'll have to leave this room and seek food."

"And I will find it," he snaps.

"Where? There are hundreds of other birds who were just released into the wild. Hundreds of other younger, faster birds that have already plucked every rodent and bug from this island. You're too late. You wouldn't last two days on your own. At least not with an injured wing."

Instead of immediately snapping at me, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. When he finally responds, he sounds defeated. "Why should a human care whether or not I live or die? What do you gain by helping me?"

"Hopefully a friend," I answer softly. "I understand your distrust. I hated the humans who worked in this place just as much as you did. They experimented on me daily. Feel free to ask some of the other experiments."

"Is that why you can understand me?" he asks.

I smile kindly at his curiosity. "No. That's the reason why the humans experimented on me. They wanted to know how my brain differs from theirs."

Talons scraping against metal echo through the small room. "Tell me. Relate your journey, so I can see if I trust your words."

"Most of the time their experiments were useless and cruel." I roll up the long sleeves of my tunic and expose the mess of scars up and down my arms. "These are the scars from their machines. This is my proof that I was wronged as you were wronged."

Hunkering down low, the mighty bird stretches his neck to inspect my arms and fluffs his feathers. "The human behind you has remained silent. Is he an experiment as well?"

"No, this is the human who helped me escape." I glance back at Richard. "You can trust him."

"I do not trust him."

"Do you trust me?" I ask.

He does not give an immediate answer, and I take it as a good sign that he is considering my words. "How do I know this isn't a trap?"

"I can leave now, and you can fly away at your own discretion." I shrug. "But how long will you last? How bad is your wing? What if it gets infected? At least let me assess your wound. You're not bound to me in any way. Feel free to leave as soon as I'm done. I just want to help you."

"Tell the others to leave," Hurley Bird orders. "Tell them to leave and shut the door behind them."

"He wants you to leave," I tell Richard. "You and Brandon wait outside, please."

As soon as they scrape the door close, Hurley Bird plops down heavily on the operation table in front of me. His large talons have no traction on the metal, and he panics as he slips and slides. I try to help hold him still, but he nips angrily at my fingers.

I don't even attempt to coat the frustration in my voice. "I'm just trying to help you stand."

"I apologize," he says softly. "There is something stuck in my wing. I have not been able to pick it out with my beak."

Extending his expansive wing, I lean in close to inspect the affected area. Tufts of fluff border the large bald spot where he picked out his own feathers in a maddening attempt to stop the pain. In the center of the bald spot lies an angry white pustule. Shiny metal gleams from the top of the red infected skin, and a hard lump forms in my throat at the thought of how it got there. It looks as if a needle broke in half under his skin. It all seems so senseless, so unnecessarily cruel. Such a beautiful and majestic creature should not have to endure such pain. I cannot handle it.

"You weep for me," he comments in disbelief. "I do not understand you."

I wipe away the hot tears trialing down my cheeks. "No one should be treated this way. It isn't right."

"You are a very strange human," he says. "But I appreciate your kindness."

"My name is Cora. What should I call you?"

He pauses. "I do not know."

"Does Hurley Bird suffice?"

"I suppose it is as good a name as any." His pleas become more urgent. "Can you help me, Cora? Can you heal my wing?"

"I'll try my best." Rooting through leftover medical equipment, I gather tweezers, a scalpel, antiseptic, and bandages. Taking the scalpel first, I make a small incision at the top of the infected lump and hold a bandage against it as it begins to drain a foul smelling liquid. When the lump has significantly deflated, I secure a tight hold on the needle fragment and yank hard and quick.

Hurley Bird flaps and squawks and falls off the table with a crash.

"I got it!" I yell. "I've got it! Look." A needlepoint the length of my pinkie finger lies glistening on the metal table. "I'm sorry that it hurt you, but I'll need to medicate your wing. Hop up here and I'll bandage you up."

For the entirety of my treatment, Hurley Bird never once lets his large, glassy black eyes wander from my face. I worry that his previous anger and distrust is returning, but after I've finished medicating his wound, he closes his eyes and nuzzles the palm of my hand lovingly with his beak. A strange cooing sounds deep from within his chest as he continues to caress my hand, and I tear up again.

"You're very welcome," I whisper.

Opening his eyes and locking them with mine, he promises, "One day, I will help you as you have helped me, Cora. If I live to see a million sunsets, you have my word."

* * *

I have turned the Temple into my sanctuary. It is therapeutic to etch pictures and Tengwar into the stonewalls and doorways. When I'm not meditating out by the waterfall, I am instructing fighting lessons, practicing archery, and teaching Sindarin to anyone interested in learning it.

The young people of the Temple have formed their own clubs of sorts, each attaching themselves to animals I am most fond of. Some wave fox, some wolf, and others polar bear banners. I find it amusing.

"I'd like to bring Ben here. I think it will do him good to interact with other children. I'd feel safer if he were behind these walls."

Richard looks out at the water, silent for a long while. "I don't think that's a good idea."

I sit up straighter on the bank of the pond. "You don't?"

"No," he says quickly. "I don't."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't belong here. This is—"

"He belongs here if I say he belongs here."

Sighing for lack of words, Richard starts again. Dark black strands of uncut hair fall over his eyes, and I cannot tell what he is thinking. "He's safest right where he is."

"Why are you so against me bringing him here?"

I've barely asked the question before Richard snaps, "Because I don't want him here."

The flash of anger is gone from his face, but I can still feel it. "Richard?"

But he is already standing. "Excuse me."

"Richard," I say harshly.

"He's safest right where he is," Richard assures me. "You have my word. No harm will come to him."

* * *

David peeks over the lip of the wooden cradle Jacob whittled for Jane and grins, flashing his four front teeth. "Baby," he declares.

"Yes," I tell him. "She's a baby. Can you say Jane?"

"Chain," he tries.

"Jane."

"Chain."

I pick him up and toss him into the air before catching him and holding him to my chest. He giggles and wriggles his way out of my arms so he can look at Jane again.

"Cob-cob," David says enthusiastically, pointing at Jane. "Look."

Jacob chuckles and fluffs David's dark curls. "You're growing up fast, little man."

I soothe my fingers through Jane's fine wisps of hair and think about what I must do. I'm running out of time. The problem with my returning memories is that I can't remember what happened in the actual show, what has happened only in my dreams, and what has happened because of my existence. I think I've figured out a way to save us all, should the need arise, but I still require confirmation that my remaining family will live long, happy, safe lives after I'm gone.

Jacob places a firm hand on my shoulder. "You look sad, Cora. What can I help you with?" Glancing around he asks, "Where's Richard?"

"You'd help Richard raise her, wouldn't you?" I ask numbly, grateful that I decided to break the rules and visit Jacob on my own. "If something were to happen to me, you'd help him keep Jane safe?"

Jacob studies me in silence. "Of course."

I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear him say it.

"That's not all that's troubling you," he comments.

And, as always, he's right.

* * *

"You see the dead." Jacob sounds skeptical. "And I gave you this power? In the future?"

"No," I explain for a second time. "You give me the power to understand animals. I guess the island gave me ghost-whisperer power as a consolation prize."

"Why are you telling me this?"

I look out at the ocean and then down at my children. "Because I'm going away for a few years, and the next time you see me, I won't remember who you are. I need you to give me this power, Jacob, or I can't help the people I need to help."

* * *

The Swan Station construction site brings back more memories. Memories of a Scottish man. Desmond Hume.

A small, sane part of me persuaded Richard to keep the scientists responsible for the Swan Station on the island. They've been working at the same pace they were before, and I worry I should force them to increase production. I worry I'm doing this all wrong.

"I am curious," a soft voice says from behind me, "about what you plan to do once the station is fully operational." Dr. Chang stands at my side, closely monitored by a snarling Brandon.

_Desmond Hume. I need to send a message to Desmond. _"The videos you make for each station," I say. "I want you to refilm the Swan Station orientation. I want to be in it."

"You sent the film crew back to the island during your evacuation orders."

I smile at him before looking back out at the construction site. "I'm sure you can find someone intelligent enough to hold a camera steady. I have faith in you, Dr. Chang."

* * *

Richard, Sawyer, Jin, and Miles follow behind me in a bright blue Dharma security jeep as I trot around the island on the back of Thranduil. I don't take any chances. Jane and my future husband's lives are at stake. During previous perimeter checks, I've already stumbled upon escaped Dharma members hiding out in the jungle. I won't rest until they have all been hunted down.

Thranduil's large elk ears twitch.

"What do you hear?" I ask.

"Footsteps. To the left. Near that foliage."

Notching an arrow on my bowstring, I dismount Thranduil and hurry in the direction he pointed at with his snout. I hear a jeep door open and slam shut, and Richard appears at my side with a loaded rifle.

"How many?" Richard whispers.

"Thranduil said he heard footsteps," I reply. "I don't know how many."

We track a single set of shoeprints deep into the jungle, keeping ourselves carefully shielded by brush and trees. As we near the source of the tracks, I scramble up the limbs of a tree and hide on one of the top branches. Richard and I both agreed that of the two of us, Richard should be the one who conducts negotiations. My conversation skills were already piss-poor _before _I was experimented on.

Taking aim at the man, just in case negotiations turn sour, I wait while Richard approaches. I'm too high up, and their voices are too low, so I cannot hear what they're saying, but the man seems to agree to whatever deal Richard made with him, and Richard gives me the signal to come down.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see the man up close. I know him, but I can't remember why. His eyes widen in fear when I approach, and the memory of swimming comes to mind. _I am swimming. He is there. Why?_

Sawyer, Jin, and Miles file into view behind us. Richard begins to explain the agreement, but all I can do is stare at the man, trying my best to figure out why I remember him.

"You stole my clothes," I say.

Richard pauses his explanation. "What, Cora?"

_It was you. You stole my clothes the night I went skinny-dipping. _My brain starts making rapid-fire connections. _He went back to the Barracks with my clothes. He told Horace. He told security to check the tapes._

"It was you," I seethe.

I can see in his eyes that he knows what I mean.

"Cora," Richard tells me, "we're bringing Mr. Kingsbury back to the Barracks. He's agreed to remain under house arrest until we can figure out a way to send him back to the mainland."

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. Sweat has pooled on the man's worried brow. _I remember you, _I say with my eyes. _I remember you, you piece of filth. You always gained such a rush by tormenting me in front of the entire Initiative. If it wasn't my weight, it was my clothing, or the food I ate. How happy you were to make my life miserable._

_ How happy you must have been to tell Horace that I might be a Hostile. You put the thought in his head. I know you did._

"People I love dearly live within the Barracks," I tell him. "I need your word that you will never attempt to escape, and you will never harm a single member of my community under any circumstances."

"Yes," Mr. Kingsbury gasps in agreement to the deal. "Yes, you have my word."

I nod my head, and then I unsheathe one of the daggers at my waist and thrust the sharp blade up under his jaw. With a sickening spray of gurgled blood, I yank the blade free and watch his useless body slump at my feet. The discussion behind me falls dead silent. Even the birds in the trees have forsaken conversation.

"Why would you do that?" Sawyer yells in utter disbelief.

"Because I didn't believe him." I watch the man's blood seep into the mossy jungle floor, and I feel no guilt. I feel absolutely nothing at all.

* * *

I sit ridged on my front porch, silently observing the masses. Ben wanders into view, a book in hand and Marguerite at his heals. It took a concentrated effort to persuade Marguerite that Ben and the Others living in this community are not to be feared. I smile at the pair when Ben reaches down to pat the little cub on her head. Happiness sours in my stomach as Charles Widmore cross the courtyard and impedes Ben's path, completely blocking Ben from my view. A blade is already in my clenched fist.

"Get away from him," I warn, hurrying down my porch steps.

Widmore turns around and backs up at the sight of the dagger.

A tight hand on my wrist makes my entire body stiffen. "What's going on?" Richard asks.

"That's what I'd like to know," Widmore sneers. "I was asking the boy if he knew where you were, and she came at me with a knife."

It's happening again. I can't decipher which memories come from the original show, which come from my life on this island, and which are a fictitious mixture of the two. I can't remember if this Widmore is as dangerous as I remember him being in the show.

All I remember are mercenaries. Mercenaries sent to destroy every man, woman, and child on this island and take Ben away. To stop this, I must befriend the birds. I must keep Walt safe. Widmore is responsible for the death of my loved ones. This memory fills me with such terror, such hatred, that it is too large a risk not to treat it like the truth.

"He's mistaken," I tell Richard with a feigned calm. "I wasn't attacking anyone. I always keep a knife handy." Ripping my wrist out of Richard's tight grip, I return Widmore's seething gaze. "Haven't I earned that right?"

"Come here, Ben." Richard moves his hand to my shoulder and gives me a nudge back to my house. "I think you should stay with Cora from now on. Charles, we can discuss your business at my house."

I refuse to break eye contact with Widmore until he has disappeared from sight. "What are you doing wandering around?" I ask Ben.

Throughout our friendship, he's grown accustomed to my outbursts and no longer flinches away from me. He realizes that although I am dangerous, I mean him no harm. Ben holds up the book and answers happily, "I was reading under the gazebo. There are less bugs over there."

"There are _no_ bugs in the house," I say with a small smile. "I'd prefer if you would read within my line of sight."

"Is Mr. Widmore dangerous?" he whispers, pressing into my side. "Is that why you got mad?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "But I'm going to find out." Resting the palm of my hand on his forehead, I tell Ben to stay in my house until I return.

"But," he argues, "Richard said I'm supposed to stay with you."

"I know. I'll be right back."

* * *

"She's dangerous, Richard."

"I don't want to hear it."

"And what's her claim on that boy? It all leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"Did you seek me out to complain about Cora?" Richard sounds pissed. "Because I have a very long list of more important things I could be doing right now."

I lean up against the window, out of sight.

"For God's sake, Richard. Eloise and my unborn child are only a few houses away from hers. I don't feel safe with her here. Not when she's loaded down with knifes and arrows and God knows what else you've allowed her to wield."

"She says she's—"

"I don't care what she says, Richard. She _attacked _me today with the intention of stabbing me with that dagger. You were the only thing that stopped her." Widmore lowers his voice. "I know you two have been friends for longer than I could possibly imagine, but these people did something to her. You have to see it, Richard. You have to see that she is not the same person anymore. We need to deal with her accordingly."

I grind my teeth. _That's how you want to play? You send people to kill me and Ben and the animals I care for, and then you have the nerve to turn this around like it's my fault?_

_ Maybe it is _you _that needs to be dealt with._

* * *

Thranduil's hoofs clop on the trail leading to the beach. We haven't found any Dharma members for months, but I refuse to give up the search. For Jane's sake, for Ben's sake, and, if I'm honest, for my own sake.

I stop short when I see them standing around the shore.

Locke, Hugo, and Claire.

"You're really here! Son of a bitch actually did it!" Sawyer rushes past me and clasps a hand on Locke's shoulder.

I pull on Thranduil's reigns, and he backs up a few steps.

"You're alive!" Hugo yells, gathering Sawyer up in a bone-crunching hug. "I can't believe it!"

Sawyer laughs. "Easy on the ribs, Kong."

"Kong," Hugo muses fondly. "I actually missed that. What's up with you guys in the old Dharma jeeps?"

Sawyer and Miles exchange looks. "You want to tell them, or should I?"

"Tell us what, James?" Locke asks.

"We're in the Dharma Initiative," Sawyer answers. "Well, we _were_. They had a change of leadership."

Locke's face brightens with curiosity. "They came back to the island?"

"No. We came back," Sawyer explains. "And so did you. It's 1977. Are you the only ones who came back?"

"No, we all did. Flew in on a plane." John loops his thumbs through his belt and nods at his little group. "We all came back, except for Aaron."

"Sun?" Jin gasps.

"Yes," says Locke. "Your wife was among us."

"Was?"

"We lost the majority of our group. They . . . disappeared."

Jin takes off back to the jeep.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sawyer yells.

"The Flame. They'll know if a plane landed on the island." Throwing it into gear, Jin speeds away down the side of the hill, sending mud and gravel flying up behind him.

"Locke?" Richard advances with a confused apprehension. "John Locke?"

"Hello, Richard," Locke says with a smile.

"Hey," Hugo mumbles, and I look up to find him waving a finger in my direction. "What's _she_ doing here?"

All eyes turn to focus on me.

* * *

"—saying you've been living here, with the Dharma Initiative, for the past three years?"

I drift back into the conversation. They're all seated in Sawyer's living room, waiting patiently for me to summon Charlie from the Temple.

"Yeah," says Sawyer. "How long has it been for you?"

"Three years," Claire answers.

I strap the last of the provisions on Thranduil and set off into the jungle.

It is far past sunset by the time I reach the Temple. Charlie is so surprised by my news that he doesn't immediately beg me to take him back. "I know it's a lot to internalize all at once," I say with a hand on his shoulder. "But Claire's waiting. She's been waiting for three years."

"Has she?" he retorts.

"What do you mean?"

"Three years is a long time." He shakes his head at a thought. "Who'd want to wait for me, anyway?"

"Charlie," I scold. "Give yourself some credit. You two have been through a lot together."

I watch his adams apple bob as he thinks it through.

"Just talk to her," I suggest. "Start over. If it's meant to be, then it will work itself out in the end."

His fingers lace through mine and squeeze to stifle the trembles. "Thanks," he says.

* * *

We return to a fire.

One of the bungalows has been set ablaze.

Every person in the community have been called forth to help extinguish the flames. I watch Locke run by with the end of a fire hose in his hands. Richard's steady voice barks commands. Claire stumbles into view, waving away smoke.

I leave Charlie to attend to her as I head back to my own house. "Ben?" I call into the darkness. "Ben, are you in here?" I try to flip the switch to light up the living room, but the switch does nothing. I grope around in the darkness, calling for Ben, Brandon, Marguerite, anyone.

I stumble upon Marguerite's heaving body next to my overturned kitchen table. When I pull my hands away from her wet fur, they are coated in red.

"Marguerite?" I ask, my voice quivering. "Margo, what happened? What happened to you?"

"Mommy, my side hurts," she whimpers. "My side hurts. Am I going to die?"

I rush to the windows and rip off the blinds. Crisp white moonlight floods in. That's when I see my house is in shambles. "No," I confirm once I get a good look at her wound. "No, you're going to be just fine, sweetheart. Margo, what happened here? Why is—" My sofa has been slashed with claws, my cupboards open and pillaged, pictures have been knocked off the wall. "What happened here?"

"Mommy, he took him. He took my human away."

"What? Took who?"

"I tried to stop him, and he hurt me." She attempts to stand and ends up plopping back down on the floor.

"Don't move, honey. Don't move." I jump to my feet and run through the house, yelling for Ben.

"He's not here," Marguerite tells me when I return to the kitchen. "That's what I've been telling you. The scary human took him away."

"What human?" I question. "What scary human? Margo, what did the human look like?"

"Cora?" Richard stumbles through the front door. "Cora, are you in here? Are—" He stops short when he notices the mess. "What—?"

"Ben's missing," I say all in a rush. "Marguerite said somebody took him."

Richard expression seems worried even in the dark. "Ben's missing?"

I cannot breathe through my panic, thick with tears and mucus. "This is your fault!" I accuse hoarsely. "You promised me he would be safe here!"

"We'll start searching," he says, trying to calm me down. "He may have left to see the fire—"

"Marguerite said someone _took _him, Richard! Someone came into my house, hurt Margo, and _took _him!" _Why? Why would someone kidnap him? Is that what the fire was for? A distraction? _"Whose house is on fire?"

"One of your friends," Richard answers. "Jin found another one of your friends on his way to the Flame Station and dropped him off here."

"Who?" I practically scream.

Richard fumbles with the memory. "Sayid," he finally answers. "I believe his name is Sayid."

* * *

"Brandon?" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Brandon!" My legs bring me round and round the courtyard before I find him.

"Yes, my lady?"

I scramble back to my house, knocking over shelving in an attempt to find what I'm looking for. The scarf I knit Ben is still here, left behind on his last visit. "Find him, Brandon," I beg. "Find him."


	43. The End

_The Island, 2007_

_I stare out at the sea. Frank's voice wafts towards me, mixed with the crashing of waves. Now that the dizziness has mostly subsided, I make my escape from the confused survivors. Locke, Claire, Hugo, and Sayid disappeared upon landing, and I have no idea where they could have gone._

_ I head in the direction of the canoes on the other side of Hydra Island. Maybe if I row to the main island, I can find Cora. At the very least I can ask Richard for clarification on what the hell happened these past three years._

_ Sun has been trailing behind me—in what she believes is a "stealthy" manner—for half a mile. The old me would have doubled back and followed her as she wandered aimlessly in pursuit, but the old me wasn't as exhausted as I am now. Instead of sneaking up behind her, I simply turn around and ask, "Why are you following me?" When she makes no effort to reveal herself, I ask, "Why are you following me, Sun?"_

_ When she decides to step out from her pitiful hiding spot, her surprise is quickly masked. "Where are you going?" she asks defensively, as if me calling her out on her poor stealth habits has dented her pride beyond repair._

_ "Back to our island."_

_ "Then I'm going with you."_

_ "Come with me or stay here," I say, pushing past a long vine hanging down on the trail. "Frankly, it makes no difference to me."_

_ "Jin," she continues. "Is he . . . is he on our island?"_

_ "Honestly? I don't know. But it's a good place to start looking." I quicken my pace._

_ "Sun?" Frank catches up to us as we near the boats docked at the shoreline. "Sun, what are you doing?"_

_ I ignore them both as I fling aside palm leaves and netting meant to disguise the canoes. _

_ I overhear Frank argue, "The freighter I was on was full of commandos whose only mission was to kill his wife."_

_ "And how did that work out for everyone?" I shout sarcastically._

_ "Sun, his family is bad news. I'd stay as far away from him and Cora as possible."_

_ "I take it you won't be joining us?" I yell to Frank._

_ "I've got people to take care of back at the beach."_

_ I throw down the remaining nets with more than a little frustration. "Of course. A pilot's first responsibility is to his passengers. Well, Frank, I have people I need to look after as well. Speaking of which," I mumble under my breath._

_ Widmore ducks under a tree and heads in my direction. "Thought you said we should stick together, Benjamin." _

_ "I figured you knew how to get to the canoes on your own." I glance behind him to confirm he is alone. "Where's the rest of your team?"_

_ "They have their orders." Charles eyes Sun. "Is she coming with us?"_

_ "Yes," Sun answers._

_ "Then stop chatting with your pilot friend," he says snidely, nodding at Frank, "and get in the damn boat."_

* * *

_ "Why are you here?" Sun asks incredulously._

_ Charles grunts with the strain of paddling over the strong ocean current. "For the same reason you are, Sun. I'm looking for someone."_

_ "Who?" she prods._

_ "We're looking for Cora," I answer in his stead._

_ "Cora?" Sun splutters. "Ben, his boat was the one who came here to kill her."_

_ "I've seen the light," Charles mumbles, "so to speak."_

_ "What?"_

_ "We're trying to find Cora so we can protect her," I clarify._

_ Charles switches sides and continues rowing. "We need to find her and protect her at all costs."_

_ Sun asks, "Why?"_

_ "Because, Sun," Charles snaps, "if she dies . . . very bad things are going to happen."_

_ "What kind of bad things?"_

_ "Imagine a darkness, an evil so powerful it doesn't have a proper name. I believe your people call it the monster." I twist around to explain. "Cora is the key to making sure that darkness never leaves this island, never roams the mainland and infects the entirety of the world. If she dies, that darkness will be free to leave this island, and we wouldn't be able to stop it."_

_ "It would destroy everyone you care about," Widmore muses. "Your daughter. Your husband. Your parents. Your friends. No one would be safe. This is so much more than just an island feud, Sun. This is the fate of the entire world." With a sneer, Widmore orders, "So row faster."_

* * *

_ I don't believe my eyes._

_ "Dad?"_

_ "Alex?" She's grown into a beautiful young woman. Nineteen. I just recently missed her birthday. Before I can stop myself, I have her face in my hands. "Look at you."_

_ Danielle swiftly appears at her side, and I back away._

_Richard approaches us with a confused half-smile. He chose to set up camp on the shores of the beach, and our people keep their distance. All except for Jane._

_ At the sight of Widmore, she pulls her rifle up and cocks it. "What the hell are you doing here?"_

_ "No, Jane." Richard places a hand on the barrel of her gun and pushes it down towards the sand. "Let them speak."_

* * *

_ I watch a thin rope flap sporadically in the wind within Richard's tent. Jane refuses to lower her aim at Widmore, and Richard has all but given up on trying to persuade her to cooperate._

_ "You've got a boar roasting over one of your fires," I state flatly. "I'm sure Cora just loves that."_

_"We didn't have much choice, Ben. My people cannot live on a diet of papayas alone. And as I've said before," Richard replies brusquely, "Cora has not been on this island for the past three years. I thought she was with you."_

_ "If she's not with me, and she's not with you," I ask, "then where is she?"_

_ "I can answer that," says the voice of a ghost. I spin around, the hair on the back of my neck already prickling. Peering in at us through the opening of Richard's tent is the smiling face of none other than Jack Shephard—the man whose corpse I unearthed from St. Gabriel's cemetery over six months ago._

_ Charles immediately pales. Sun shoots up from her seat, seeking shelter behind me. Jane smells danger in the air and shifts the barrel of her rifle from Widmore to Jack._

_ "What's with the gun?" Jack asks her. "I mean you no harm."_

_ "Jack?" Richard tilts his head, thinking. "What are you doing here?"_

_ "I thought you never wanted to return to this island," Jane comments with uncertainty. "Friends of mine died so you could get on that damn freighter, and now you're back?"_

_ "Put your gun down, girl," Charles commands quietly. "Jane," he says louder, "put it down, now."_

_ Glancing quickly in my direction, Richard tries to piece together a reason behind our reaction. He doesn't know Jack Shephard is dead._

_ Sun is the first to break the silence. "You're dead."_

_ "No," Jack answers with an amused chuckle at her bluntness. "No, it would appear I'm not."_

_ "I went to your funeral," she continues._

_ He compresses his lips and shakes his head. "Wasn't me."_

_ Sun can't seem to stop talking. "What are you doing here?"_

_ "I'm looking for Cora." Jack takes a few steps into the tent, walking right up to me, and I find myself unable to back up and distance myself from him. "I believe Benjamin here is looking for her as well." Terror flows through my veins, hijacking my brain and taking control of my every movement. I cannot remember a time when I was this afraid of anyone or anything. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find her, would you, Ben?"_

_ "Richard, man, do you know where the—" Michael peeks in and stops short at the sight of us gathered in Richard's tent. "What's going on? Jack?!"_

_ Jack turns away from he, smiling. "Michael, it's been awhile."_

_ "It's been three years, man!" The two embrace, and Richard takes this time to whisper something in Jane's ear before nudging her out the back of the tent. I try to question him with my eyes, but he won't look at me._

_ "It's settled, then," says Jack, and I snap back to attention. "Richard, I'd like you to take me to Jacob."_

_ Widmore stiffens._

_ "What?" asks Richard._

_ "You know where he is, don't you?" Jack picks up a canteen off the small wooden table in the corner of the tent and inspects it._

_ "I do," Richard answers._

_ "Good," says Jack as he shoves the canteen in a backpack. "Then let's get going."_

* * *

Dharma, 1977

Widmore stands beside Ellie, an ever-present scowl etched into his face. "What does that man want with the boy?"

I chew my thumb cuticle until it bleeds. Brandon followed Ben's scent all the way to a small pool of water that feeds the streams that run throughout the island, and then lost the scent completely. My concern sits stagnant in the pit of my stomach.

After the fire was extinguished, I gathered my people together for a head count. Sayid and Faraday are missing. Sawyer checked the security cameras, but so far we have no leads on where they could have gone. I've never felt so utterly useless before.

I don't even know where to start looking. If memory serves me right, the show had Sayid picked up by Dharma and thrown in jail. Ben rescued him in an attempt to be accepted by the Hostiles, only to be shot by Sayid who believed killing Ben would erase all the horrible things that had happened.

But what about Faraday?

"The bomb," I think aloud. All conversations grow silent at my proclamation. "I know what they want. I know how to make this all stop."

Widmore studies me with pensive eyes. "And how is that?"

"Daniel is looking for the bomb—"

"Who the hell is Daniel?" Widmore interrupts.

"What bomb?" Sawyer interjects. "And what the hell does Dr. Frankenstein want with it?"

"Eloise," I say, ignoring the growing murmurs around me, "you've met him before. He's the one who told you how to store the bomb."

Widmore furrows his brows and turns to gape quizzically at her. "Is this true, Ellie?"

"Yes," she finally replies. "When I was seventeen years old, I took him to the bomb, and he proceeded to tell me that if we buried it underground, then things would work out splendidly. When I asked him how he could be so sure, he said he was from the future."

Widmore looks less than willing to believe the story. "What?"

_Maybe nobody has to get hurt. They took Ben for a reason, and that reason must be to negotiate. They want directions to the bomb. They think detonating it will stop their plane from crashing on this island. _"I'm starting to fear that he may be slightly less than mentally stable at the moment."

With a huff, Widmore puffs out his chest and proclaims, "Then we find this man and kill him. You'll get the boy back, and we'll be rid of—"

"You can't," I say.

Annoyed by the interruption, Widmore snaps, "And why can't I?"

"Your baby," I address Ellie, "is going to grow up to be that man. He was telling the truth. He's here from the future."

"That's ridiculous." Widmore moves to stand protectively in front of her. "How would you know this?"

"Because, Charles," I admit, exasperated, "I'm from the future, too."

* * *

_The Island, 2007_

_Sun walks up beside me. I sense her question before she even speaks a word. "Who's Jacob?"_

_ If someone had asked me that three years ago, I would have had a concrete answer. Now, I don't entirely know what to say. "He's in charge of this island."_

_ "I thought you said Cora was in charge."_

_ "No, I said she was our leader. A title that I've discovered is incredibly temporary. But everyone answers to somebody, and the leader answers to Jacob." _

_ "What's he like?"_

_ How do I answer that? I've only met him once, and he did all the talking. I don't know who he is. I don't know what he's like._

_ Noticing my lull in answering, Sun moves on to the next question. "Do you think he can help us bring our friends back?"_

_ "I sure hope so." I watch as Jack and Richard stop the group for a short rest and engage in conversation, too far away for me to hear what they're saying. "For all our sakes."_

* * *

_ Jack removes a canteen from his pack and takes a long swig. "You've been staring for the past hour, Richard. Is there something you want to ask me?"_

_ "Ben told me how you died." I watch for any sort of change in his demeanor, curious and cautious about this man that caused so much destruction in his short time here. "After sixteen failed suicide attempts, you were struck and killed by a car, accidently. What I would like to know is how you're standing here, alive, if Ben tells me he saw your coffin loaded on that plane you came back on."_

_ "Well," Jack says with a quick bob of his head, "you've been on this island much longer than I have, Richard. If anyone should have an explanation, I think it would be you."_

_ "I've been here a long time, Jack, and I've seen things on this island that I can barely describe, but I've never seen someone come back from the dead."_

_ Jack's smile widens. "And I've never seen someone who doesn't age."_

_ I feel the need to defend myself. "I'm this way because of Jacob. And if I were to guess, I'd say he's the reason you're not in that coffin anymore."_

_ "I agree completely, Richard. That's why I'm doing this. So I can thank him." Stowing his canteen in his backpack, Jack adds, "Once I've done that, we'll need to deal with the other passengers on the Ajira flight that brought me here."_

_ This takes me aback. "What do you mean 'deal' with them?"_

_ Jack gives me a conspirator's smile. "You know what I mean."_

_ As Jack walks away to converse with Michael, I catch sight of Jane crouched in the rocks above us. Making sure that Jack isn't watching, I hurry to meet her in a low crevice, shielded from the rest of the group. "I told you to run, damnit."_

_ Ignoring me, as usual, she asks, "Why are you leading him to Jacob?"_

_ "I don't know what else to do."_

_ "I don't think you should take him to Jacob," she insists._

_ Neither do I, but it looks like I don't have a choice. We're dealing with a being that may or may not be human. "I want you to take David and Ben and get as far away from this beach as possible. Do you understand me?"_

_ Jane's face immediately scrunches up, and I'm reminded of all the times she defied me during her childhood. But for all her faults, she never used to backtalk Jacob. She has favored him over me all her life, and I know she refuses to leave while his safety seems questionable._

_A glinting shine reflects off her neck, and I'm struck by the fact that she is still wearing Isabella's necklace after all these years. It had been my gift to her when she was old enough to comprehend its importance, and at the time she had sworn to me she would never take it off. But that was a long time ago, when she was nothing more than a rambunctious child, and I assumed she had long since forgotten about it._

_But she has kept her promise._

_I can't help but smile and reach out to cup the side of her face. I wish Cora were here to see how extraordinary our daughter turned out to be. "I want you to take Ben and David and run."_

_ "Richard—"_

_ "I love you," I tell her, "and I won't let anything hurt you, ever. But I'm afraid, Jane. I'm more afraid than I've been in a very, very long time. I need you to do this for me, okay?"_

_ "I'm not a child, and I'm not leaving."_

_ "You're my child." I have kept this secret from her for thirty-two years, having raised her to believe that Jacob and I were merely her guardians, and a weight is lifted off my shoulders at the confession. Judging from her expression, she doesn't understand that I am finally telling her the truth. "Jane, you don't understand . . . you're not adopted. I didn't adopt you. I'm your biological father. I'm a part of your DNA."_

_ The more I say, the more horrified Jane looks. "Is this some kind of joke?"_

_ "I never told you for your own safety, but now . . . I don't know what's going to happen, and I need you to know. Just in case something happens to me."_

_ Flushed and slightly sweaty, Jane starts to panic. "What do you mean if something happens to you?"_

_ "I wish we had more time." Jack finishes his conversation with Michael and glances around, presumably for me. "I don't want you anywhere near Jack. Please, Jane, for once in your life will you listen to me?"_

* * *

_ "Jane," David hisses sharply, "what are you doing? Let's go."_

_ "I'm not leaving," she says. "You two go on without me."_

_ I notice the emotional quiver in her usually rock-solid voice, so I kneel in the dirt beside her as she watches from our hiding spot within the trees as the group marches steadily on towards Jacob's statue. "Jane?"_

_ Fighting thoughts and fears, Jane fidgets next to me—a habit she usually vocally abhors. "Richard just told me he's my father."_

_ Of all the reasons she could be so upset, I certainly wasn't expecting that one. "I'm sorry, he what?"_

_ "He told me I'm not adopted, that he's my father, and that he's been lying to me my whole life for my own protection." Her troubled eyes rise to meet mine. "What does that even mean, Ben?"_

_ "To be honest, I'm not sure of anything anymore. Except for the fact that Jack isn't who he says he is, and Richard has the right idea about us distancing ourselves from this place while we have the chance."_

_ "And do what?" she counters. "Run to the other side of the island? Hide away like cowards? I can't leave him alone with whatever the hell that thing is. If you want to go, take David and leave."_

_ "Jane," David approaches with a look of horror. "Jane, if you're Richard's daughter . . . Jane, I'm his son. Good God, we dated. We—"_

_ "Shut up, David." Jane holds up a hand to stop him. "We have more important things to worry about right now. Ben, are you leaving or not?"_

_ We weren't exactly friends in our younger years, but we weren't enemies either. Clever and vehemently opinionated, I always found Jane to be a little too abrasive for my taste. Which made her romantic relationship with David—who has always been more than a little emotional—a very confusing spectacle._

_Still, she is one of the oldest friends I have on this island, and now I've discovered she is the daughter of an even older friend of mine. I cannot abandon her. "I'll go where you go."_

_ "David?" she asks._

_ "Yeah, I'll stay."_

_ "Good. Now, get up. We're following them."_

* * *

With all the chaos going on, Richard panicked and fled to Jacob's statue to ensure Jane's safety was not compromised. Brandon, learning that my child may be in danger, asked to join him, and I readily agreed. I didn't have a choice in my search partner. Eloise assigned me to her—Husband? Boyfriend? Sugar Daddy?—whatever the hell Charles is to her. We both silently agree that not speaking is the most efficient way to keep from killing each other.

Out of the thirty paired-up scouting partners Eloise sent into the jungle, Charles and I are the ones to stumble upon Faraday.

"Don't do this, Daniel."

He spins around at the sound of my voice, and I can tell he's been busy running all over the island doing God knows what. Sweaty strands of hair stick to his damp forehead, dark rings encircle his eyes, and the nervous twitch he develops whenever he has an insane idea has returned full force. "Do you even understand the importance of what I'm doing?" he rambles and holds up his tattered journal. "Do you even understand what I can do to help you?"

"Stop wasting my time," Widmore cuts in. "Where are you hiding the boy?"

I'd probably be dead if I didn't notice the slight shift of Faraday's eyes as they land on something behind me. Instead of being stabbed in the back of the throat, Sayid's knife grazes a long line down the side of my arm. Widmore, startled only temporarily, abandons me as he sprints after Daniel, who has fled off into the jungle.

Torn, throbbing flesh burns like a trail of fire down my bloodied arm. "You asshole," I accuse with more than a little resentment. "Why the hell did you do that? I'm trying to _help_ you."

Somehow two blades have secured themselves in my grip—one in each hand—at the sight of Sayid's knife. His arm isn't even raised in defense, as if the knife he wields is only a formality, and I am no threat. "I'm not interested in any help you offer," he sneers.

"You want the bomb? You can have it. Just give me Ben back." My molars scream in pain as I clench my teeth in an effort to keep my mind off my slit arm. _Where are Richard and Brandon when you need them? _"Do you want to know where the bomb is, or not?"

A small, amused smile tugs at his lips. "And what exactly did you have in mind? Would you like me to put down my weapon and follow you back to your people? No," he says with a small shake of his head, his wavy black hair falling over his eyes, "I think I'll do this my way."

Silver flashes near my left eye. I duck out of the way, but not before the tip of the knife nicks my cheek. I fight away the memory of needles and steel laboratory walls, blinking furiously to keep relatively sane. I will not revert back to the dark days. I will remain human.

Jacob's teachings keep me grounded as I twist and turn and stab and swipe. Sweat slides down my face, stinging my eyes, and for the first time in a long time I curse the humid air as we circle each other, round and round in the faint light of the pale moon.

I feel good about this. Confidant. Pure rage fuels my every move, and so far I've injured him far more than he's injured me, though you'd never know it from his blank expression. I utilize my knives like claws—much like the foxes and bears I spent so much time with in prison. They become an extension of myself, no more so than my fingers or nails. Just a little longer, and I can end this.

But I've been wrong before.

* * *

"Mary, Mother of God," I groan into the endless darkness. _What happened? Am I dead? Is this darkness the void I've been so worried about? Am I in Hell?_

I'm lying facedown on the ground, body throbbing in pain. Everything hurts like I've been run over by a series of trucks. When I try to sit up, I discover my hands have been bound behind me, and for a maddening few minutes I fly into a panic, thinking I'm back in the laboratories. To make matters worse, I've been coated in a thick layer of dripping mud.

"Miss Collins?" a voice calls out. "Is that you?"

"Ben?" I squint in the darkness, but I cannot see a thing. Oozing mud drips slowly down over one of my eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he answers. "What's happening?"

"Where are you?" I ask frantically.

"That's close enough," Daniel announces from somewhere nearby. "Ben, I need you to back up. Go back against the wall, please."

"No," I counter sharply. "Ben, come here." Using the last fleeting strength in my muscles, I push myself up into a sitting position. It is only after a nauseating rush of blood to the head that I wish I had remained on my stomach in the mud. "Ben," I repeat, "come here. He's not going to hurt you." I can hear Ben's sporadic breathing nearby to my left, so I shift myself to face his general direction. "Come here."

Not even the ringing in my ears or the chafing restraints around my wrists can dull my relief when a small, shivering body presses against me in the darkness. Ben's hands have not been bound like mine, and he wraps his arms around my middle.

"Faraday?" I call out into the black void. While my mouth struggles to form words, my tongue probes my teeth, and I taste the metallic tang of blood. _Why the hell are my gums bleeding? _Faintly, like a fragmented dream, I remember losing the fight against Sayid. I left a horrid gash from his armpit down to his stomach, but the swipe I made with my knife was at an odd angle that ensured the cut was only superficial, so I'm more than certain he's alive and well. "Faraday?" No answer. "I know what it is you're trying to do, and you're wrong. This isn't going to work. Not the way you want it to."

His soft reply is barely audible. "And what would you know about it?"

What _do _I know about it? Scientifically, I know absolutely nothing. But according to my recollections of the show, I know enough. "You can't stop the past from happening, Daniel. What happened, happened."

"I used to think so, too," he says. "I guess we'll just have to see which of us is right."

"What is it you're trying to fix?" I ask. "Why do you want to erase time so badly?"

"You," he answers. "I'm trying to erase you."

"Well, that certainly puts a damper on our relationship." I run my fingers across the wall behind me to get a feel for my surroundings. Solid concrete. _We must be indoors somewhere—a completed Station, maybe? But which one? And why are all the lights off? Are they broken, or is this just one of the many mind games they're playing to keep me in line?_ "I'm really not all that bad."

"You're the reason . . ." Daniel pauses to suck up a lungful of air. "Charlotte is dead," he finishes weakly.

My question is coated in genuine surprise. "Charlotte's dead?"

"She came back because of you," he mumbles. "She wouldn't have come back to this island if it wasn't for _you._"

"Daniel, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You killed her father. He was a scientist at Hydra, and you killed him right in front of her." His timid voice gets louder without ever holding any real strength. "She was on a field trip to see where he worked . . . she was just a child, and you killed him right in front of her. She came back here for answers, and now she's dead."

A memory of Charlotte fainting at the sight of me when we first met comes crashing to the forefront, and I am left slumped against a concrete wall, coated in a thick layer of mud, completely and irrevocably speechless.

* * *

Ben was never anything more than bait. I was the hostage Sayid actually needed. Keeping me prisoner in order to get information from Richard was disappointingly easy, and now Sayid has agreed to stay behind to watch over us—wherever it is that we're being kept—while Daniel takes his detailed journal to the bomb. I try to assure myself that this is all supposed to happen.

_But I wasn't originally on flight Oceanic. Will setting off the bomb drop me back where I belong? Set things right?_ I can't help but hope.

In the middle of the night, I contort myself as quietly as possible in order to pull my arms up under my butt and over my legs, freeing them in front of me. Still tied, they at least offer me the opportunity to loop my arms around Ben to ensure nobody tries to take him away while I sleep.

"Cora?" Ben whispers into my shirt. For once in his life he has forsaken formality and called me by my first name. "Are you hurt?"

"If you think I look bad, you should see _him._"

I feel the stillness in his voice. "Are we going to die?"

I do not immediately dismiss the idea. I'm too exhausted to lie.

"I won't let anyone hurt you." I grope around in the darkness until I find his hand and pat it. "I promise."

* * *

Deep rumbling shakes the ground beneath me, and I startle awake. "Wuh?" I grumble, confused from dehydration. Waking from my fever dreams takes more effort than I would like. When I realize what's going on, I snap to attention, fully awake. Chewing madly at the vines constricting my wrists, I finally brake through the tough plant after nearly a days worth of gnawing with flat, useless teeth. I wish I were a rat. I would have been free hours ago. "Help me up," I whisper to Ben.

"What?"

"We need to get out of here. Help me up. I think my ankle's broken."

_Something _in my right leg is definitely broken. Standing makes a wave of nausea roll through me like a violent stormy sea. I swallow down bile and limp forward, running my hand along the concrete wall, using it as a guide in the dark.

Bright white light cuts through the black void. Someone is screaming.

_I_ am screaming.

They've come back for me. They've brought a flashlight to find me in this dark place. I'm still needed in their torturous experiments. Somehow they've come back, and they're here to collect me. They're here to finish what they started.

* * *

I blink in the spotty florescent lighting. Room tilting and swaying like a drunken sailor, my eyes struggle to focus on the body below me. I'm hovered over an unconscious Sayid. His blood coats my hands. It has moistened the dried mud he covered me with, presumably so Brandon could not track me. I do not remember conquering him.

The slightest pressure on my shoulder makes me swivel around, snarling.

Ben shrinks away from me. His frightened expression is what brings me back fully. _Human. You are a human._ _Act like one._

That's when I realize I recognize this place. We are in the same Station where we first met Darcy. Yes, I remember. Darcy, who couldn't understand me because he's deaf. Ben and I hid here when the monster came after us.

I remember.

It all starts to come at once. Memories of joy and pain and confusion and fear.

I know where we are. I know where the exit is. And now that someone has turned the lights on overhead, I can navigate our way to the exit.

Pushing open the heavy metal door is an incredible strain on my injured arm, but squinting in the harsh rays of the midday sun is excruciating beyond compare. Even Ben doubles over to shield his eyes.

The island quakes again, and more distinctive memories surface. The Initiative must have drilled too far and reached the pocket of energy Daniel kept talking about. He must be there now, with the bomb.

_But Jughead does not detonate on its own. Juliet had to go down the mining shaft to set it off._

Does anyone know this? Have they all fled the scene once the energy began pulling everything metallic down the hole of death?

This must be it. This must be how I get back to where I belong. I will be the one to ensure the bomb goes off.

Judging from memory, we are incredibly close to the foot statue. I don't know if Richard is still there, protecting Jane, but even if he's not, Ben cannot stay here in the middle of the jungle. "Ben, I need you to follow that path until you get to the beach. When you reach the beach, yell for Richard."

Ben totters unstably as the brief earthquakes continue. "Why does the ground keep shaking? Miss Collins . . . your head is bleeding."

The statue is so close, but even if I were to hobble at full speed, I still wouldn't have time to say goodbye to my daughter. Jane will never know I'm her mother, which a small, morbid part of me is thankful for. I am poison.

"Listen to me. Ben, are you listening?" I wait for him to nod. "Good, because I'm going to tell you something, and I don't ever want you to forget it. You are important." He blinks at me in confusion, and my voice wavers with urgency. "There are going to be people like your father, for as long as you live, who try to make you feel worthless and sad and alone, but you're not," I tell him, firmly placing my wedding ring in his palm and closing my fingers over it.

This will be the wedding ring he gives me twenty-something years from now, like the passing of a torch through time.

Blood from where Sayid cracked my skull with a flashlight oozes down the side of my face. "Your life matters, Ben," I continue. "Your life matters to me. Don't ever forget that." Before he has the chance to question what I'm saying, I rest my forehead against his, smearing my blood. "I love you," I whisper, my hold on him tightening as the whispers become delirious sobs. I need to leave before I completely lose consciousness, or sanity, whatever comes first. "I love you so very much." The ground beneath our feet quakes for a second, and I realize I am truly out of time. "There's something I have to do, and I need you to stay with Richard while I'm gone."

"But I want to go with you."

"You can't."

Ben pulls away and fixes me with wide, frightened eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry." I wipe my blood off his forehead again and again, blinking away the tears escaping down my face. "I'm so sorry for everything." My fingers run down his temples, his nose, as I take one last look and try to memorize his face. "I need you to stay with Richard. I trust him more than anyone else on this island. He'll protect you while I'm gone. Promise me. Ben, promise me you'll stay with him."

Ben clasps my hand with his clammy fingers. "Where are you going?"

"Promise me," I order firmly, and he finally nods. I don't want to lie to him, but if he knew where I was going, if he knew what I was about to do, he'd follow me. It is easiest to lie and give him false hope. For his sake, I force a smile. "Don't worry about me, Ben. Go. I'll be right back."

* * *

I stare death in the face, and I am afraid.

After all that I have done, no pearly gates await me in the sky. No paradise lies just beyond the veil of death. It is too late to save myself, but I can still save those I love.

The Italian poet Ceasre Pavese wrote: "Love is truly the great manifesto; the urge to be, to count for something, and, if death must come, to die valiantly, with acclamation—in short, to remain a memory."

I will remain a memory to these people.

I will die so my daughter can live. My death will keep Jane and Ben and David and Richard safe. It is a sacrifice I don't have to think twice about.

Only two unfortunate souls have been claimed by destructive debris. I recognize neither of them and smile with morbid relief as I shuffle my aching body closer to the drill. That's when I see him, slumped against the side of the drill, impaled with a long metal rod. He's still alive, and he raises his head just enough to see it is me approaching.

I don't even have the strength to brag that _I _will be the one to fix the mess Faraday made, but it turns out I don't need to brag. He already knows. I catch the slightest hint of a smile before his head falls back down to rest against the dirt.

"_MY LADY!_"

I spin away from the drill, my heart rapidly sinking, as Brandon comes bounding out of the trees straight for me. "NO!" I scream, waving my arms. "No, Brandon! NO!"

Brandon does not slow down at my orders, and I watch, horrified, as a hunk of metal breaks free from the towering structure and slices into his leg. An earsplitting ringing shatters my brain as everything metallic gets yanked into the shaft, including the metal chunk now impaled inside Brandon. His large, furry body slams into me as the metal all around us pulls us down, down, down into the dark. White light shoots behind my eyelids. I've knocked my head on a crisscross of metal posts blocking the entrance into the well. Forces I cannot see suck my body down, urging me to follow the metallic shards slicing my skin to ribbons.

I have lost my grip on Brandon.

* * *

I awake in filth.

Noise. So much noise, all around me, buried deep within my skull. I cannot escape the searing in my brain. My body is boiling itself alive from the inside.

Rolling clumsily onto my side leaves my muscles throbbing in even more pain than before. Vision tilting, legs and arms aching with fatigue, I search the ground for the bomb. Heaving my useless body over to Jughead, I wade through mud and muck on all fours until I find what I'm looking for. Grasping a cement chunk the size of my head, I use the last bit of an adrenaline rush to raise it as high as my torn muscles will allow.

I am tired.

I am broken.

It doesn't matter what happens to me anymore.

_Take care of them, Richard._

_ It's time for me to go home._

I bring the stone down hard.


	44. The Beginning

_"You see the woman who moved in next door?" My father gives me a suggestive smile. "She's a looker."_

_ I cringe inwardly at the thought of my father planning some kind of delusional romance for me in his spare time. I need to find him a hobby. "Yes, and she's also half my age, if you hadn't noticed."_

_ Roger scratches under his chin as he waits for his meal to warm up in the microwave. "Haven't you heard that it's socially acceptable for younger women to seek out older men?" _

_ "It's for stabilities sake," I answer glumly. "The older men are always wealthy and able to provide for the woman's every whim. What do I have to offer but a meager teacher's salary? Not exactly the height of romantic fantasy."_

_ Roger abandons his playful façade with a winded sigh. I drop the warm TV dinner down in front of him and hurry to retrieve a replacement oxygen tank. _

_"Come on, Ben," my father complains while I hook up his air supply, "It'll do you good to be more social with females. What ever happened with that one woman? Oh, what was her name? The cute little redhead you went to college with."_

_"Annie?"_

_"That's right! Annie."_

_"Dad, Annie has been happily married for the last twenty-seven years."_

_"You see?" he snaps. "At least she knows what she's doing! You've got to hurry up and get yourself a wife. You're not exactly a spring chicken."_

_ "Yes, thank you for pointing that out."_

_ "I'm just saying," my father huffs, "that you . . . well, damn it, Ben. You spend all day looking after those bratty kids, and then you come home and look after your old man. You need . . . you deserve better."_

_ "Do I?" It's not as if I've hated my quiet, boring life. Sure, there are moments when I wish I had found someone to spend my life with—usually in the silent hours after my father falls asleep for his afternoon nap and I have no one to talk to. _

_Conversation. Stimulating conversations is all I crave. Someone to discuss history and science and literature with. Someone to fill the void of loneliness. I ask for so little, but I've yet to meet a woman who asks for so little in return._

_I can't help but smile at my poor, misguided father. "And what do I have to offer?"_

_ "You're a good man," he says sincerely, and I falter. "If you'd just allow a woman to get close enough, she'd see for herself."_

_ I twist the valve on the tank and oxygen releases with a sharp hiss. "How's that?" I ask._

_ My father only nods with relief. "I wanted so much more than this. I wanted so much more for you. That's why I signed up for that damn Dharma Initiative."_

_ "I know."_

_ Both of us jolt at the unfamiliar ring of the doorbell. We are unaccustomed to visitors._

_ "You expecting company?" my father asks._

_ "Must be Alex," I muse. "I told her to drop by sometime today to pick up a few history books from my personal collection. I thought she might find them helpful in her studies for the AP exam. Excuse me for a moment."_

_ I gather the small stack of books I piled on the coffee table and swing the front door open._

_An impossibly beautiful young woman smiles at me from the front step. I've searched every feature of her flawless face before I realize I'm staring awkwardly, mouth agape. It is the woman who moved in next door._

_"Hello!" She brings a hand up in an excited, jerky wave. In her other hand she balances a small casserole dish. "I just moved in next door . . . Oh, you're already eating. I'm so sorry—"_

_ "Who is it?" my father yells from the dining room, freeing me at last from my hypnotic gawking._

_ The woman is already backing away, apologizing._

_ "Wait!" I blurt out. My heartbeat anxiously increases at the thought of her departure. "Wait, I'm sorry. Excuse me." I turn and fling the history books haphazardly onto the sofa so I can follow her out. "You must be my new neighbor."_

_ Even at her full height she only comes up to my collarbone. Now that I'm so close, I notice the flecks of gold within the emerald of her eyes. A faint floral scent wafts off her and makes me stand up straighter._

_"I'm sorry to bother you," she apologizes, cringing with embarrassment. "I should have figured you were already eating at this hour."_

_ "Well, helllloooo!" my father yells from the doorway._

_ Oh, God. Please no._

_ "Don't keep her waiting out in the dark, Benjamin! Excuse my son. He's usually not this rude."_

_ "I was just dropping this off," she says and hands me the dish. "Mama says there's no better way to make friends than with food."_

_ "Oh, come in, come in!" my father insists. "Enjoy the fruits of your labor with us! We were just sitting down to eat. Join us!"_

_ "I wouldn't want to impose."_

_ "Nonsense!" Roger yells jovially. "You wouldn't be imposing in the slightest!"_

_ "Feel free to flee," I whisper to the young woman. "I implore you to get out while you still can." Her lips twitch with humor, and I find myself smiling in return._

_ Undoubtedly frustrated with the slowly dwindling prospects of a future daughter-in-law, my father barks, "Do not make me wheel myself down these steps, boy."_

_ "Your father?" she asks, nodding at the insufferable figure behind me._

_ "Unfortunately," I sigh. "Would you humor him—I'm sorry, I don't even know your name yet."_

_ "Cora."_

_ "Benjamin. Pleased to meet you." In all my infinite foolishness, I let go of the casserole dish in my mad dash to clasp her hand in my own. Luckily, her reflexes are impressive enough to catch the dish mid-fall. I apologize with a rising heat in my cheeks._

_ Her mirthful laughter brings a strangling sensation to my chest, and I'm suddenly so winded I need to sit down. "That's alright," she assures me with another chuckle. "I've got it." She steps past me and through the front door, and it takes a concentrated effort not to watch her backside while she walks. _

_ I scowl at my father when he gives me an excited thumbs up._

_ Cora makes her way to the dinning room, and I set down a potholder so the hot dish does not leave a mark on my table. "Oh," she sighs at the sight of the small TV dinner I microwaved for my father. "Again, I'm really sorry for barging in on your meal."_

_ "What? This?" Roger hastily chucks the meal in the trash. "Nothing but a tasteless pile of cardboard. What did you bring?" Cora peals back a layer of tin foil and thick clouds of spiced steam spiral up towards the ceiling. "Smells absolutely delicious. Doesn't it, Ben?"_

_ "Grasi," she says._

_"Lucky for us," my father continues, "that a woman who enjoys eating moved in next-door. We'll surely never go hungry now."_

_ I drop my fork, mortified._

_If there is one thing I've learned about women in all my years of life, it is that you are never, ever supposed to comment on their weight. Especially not here, in Los Angeles, where the starving starlets of Hollywood roam the streets for men to lust after. Where ribcages and thigh-gaps and protruding collarbones are a fashion staple. Where even though women like Cora are at a physically healthy weight, they will never grace the cover of those God-awful style magazines._

_Smite me, God. I beg of you. Free me from this situation._

_ "What?" my father asks, clueless. He looks from my dark expression to Cora's raised eyebrows. "All I said was—"_

_I kick his shin under the table._

_"What?" my father repeats, louder this time. "I for one am relieved to find a young woman in this day and age who isn't afraid to eat more than a glass of water and a damn crouton and call it a meal. Look at her. She has an hourglass figure that your aunt would have killed for, Ben, I kid you not. Back in my day, women weren't afraid of looking like women! They're supposed to be soft, for God's sake."_

_Cora rests an elbow on the table, covering her mouth with a hand. Her shoulders shake as she shifts her face down to rest against the table._

_I panic._

_What am I supposed to do? I have the overwhelming urge to comfort her, but I don't know how to console a crying woman. This is a disaster. I will never forgive my father for this travesty._

_Cora throws her head back and roars with laughter. "You are too much, Mr. Linus! You sound so much like my father. He could talk you to death on that subject."_

_Sweet relief flows through me at the realization that she's amused, not insulted, at my father's ramblings. I slump in my seat._

_Roger fixes me with a smug smile._

_ After serving everyone a hearty slice of the thickest lasagna I've ever seen in my life, I have to kick my father three more times before he'll finally shut up about how delicious Cora's cooking is. And it is delicious. Definitely the best lasagna I've ever tasted, but that's not the point. The point is my father has a plan, and his meddling is driving me insane._

_ Due to my father's incessant questioning, I learn that Cora was born in Kentucky but left four years ago to attend UCLA. The oldest of four, Cora's younger twin sisters, Capri and Cassandra, harbor dreams of becoming fashion designers. Her younger brother Casper is in a band, much to her amusement._

_ "I'm sure they're not that bad," I comment._

_ "Bless them," she muses fondly. "Poor things call themselves Embryonic Laundromat."_

_ Water shoots back up my throat and into my nasal cavities. "That's a very interesting name choice," I say, wiping away water with a napkin._

_ "My father makes it a point to encourage them. Says music will help shape him into a well-rounded adult." Cora smiles and serves my father another slice. "I think he might be their only fan."_

_ Roger plows forward. "What made you move out here and leave your family?"_

_ I fix my father with a look that says: I swear if you do not stop talking right this instant, I'll wheel you off the front porch and straight into the street._

_ "I hate the snow. It's awful. I remember during the winter of my senior year of high school I chipped away at the ice on my car and promised myself I'd never have to own a chisel ever again." Cora pauses before answering, staring silently at the dish of food, homesickness evident in her eyes. "Shortly after I graduated UCLA I was hired as an English teacher at the high school a few blocks away. Tomorrow is my first day."_

_ I suck in a breath, waiting for my father's inevitable reply._

_"Well, fancy that," he proclaims and slaps the table. "Ben has been teaching there for years. Haven't you, Ben?"_

_I avert my eyes and take another bite of lasagna._

_"You teach AP European History, right?"_

_I look up and blink at her, stunned. "How do you know that?"_

_"When you opened the front door, you were holding a stack of books about Elba Island and looked surprised to see me, which leads me to believe someone—presumably a student of yours—was scheduled to pick them up to study the misadventures of Mr. Bonaparte. And since your father has disclosed that you teach at the high school, and since Napoleon lived circa 1769-1821, then that would fall under the realm of early European history, which is only taught as an AP course, if I'm not mistaken."_

_"How perceptive," my father praises. "If you don't mind my asking, how'd you get the job? You don't look much older than a highschooler yourself."_

_"Roger," I warn, but he ignores me._

_ Cora smiles shyly. "Actually, I'm not much older. I turn twenty-one this December. My parents homeschooled me, so I graduated high school at sixteen and got my teaching certificate last May. I was worried no one would want to hire me because I'm so young, but Principal Reynolds practically begged me to take the position."_

_ Twenty-one. Young and bright and beautiful with a full life ahead of her._

_Well, there goes that. Say what he will, but there is no way my father can win this romantic battle on my behalf. "What will you be teaching?" I ask, slowly coming down from the high I've been riding._

_ "AP English. I've been given the juniors this year while Mrs. Simmons is out on maternity leave. My lesson plan took months to complete, but I think it'll be a lot of fun. I'm focusing on early European writers, specifically Jane Austen."_

_ "Do you have a favorite work of hers?" I question, genuinely curious._

_ "Sense and Sensibility," she answers._

_ My father brightens at the news. "Isn't that the one where the young girl marries the old farmer?"_

_ "He was a Colonel," Cora corrects him kindly._

_ "And he was old, wasn't he?"_

_ Oh for God's sake._

_A musical chime brakes the lull in conversation, and Cora fumbles to retrieve a cellphone from her purse. One quick glance at the number and she excuses herself from the table._

_"Leaving so soon?" my father asks._

_"Do you want your dish back?" I add lamely._

_"I'm really sorry," she says on her way to the living room. "I have to take this call. Please, keep the leftovers. I'll pick up the dish some other time." I spring up from my seat to escort her out, but she's already rushed through the house to the front door. Before the door closes, I hear her say, "Hey, dad. What's going on? Everything okay?" She turns to shut the front door and gives me a small wave._

_After her departure, the house feels immensely quiet. It's unsettling. _

_"She was nice."_

_"And you could have done me a favor by staying silent," I retort. "I have to work with that woman."_

_"All the more reason to get to know her better. Tell you what. How about you go over there and return her car keys?" A small keychain with a looped key and car alarm dangle from one of my father's fingers._

_I stare at him for what seems like an eternity. "Those fell out of her purse?"_

_"Yeah," he answers with an amused edge to his voice, making it very clear that they did not. Before he wheels himself to his bedroom, Roger huffs an exhausted sigh and shakes his head at me, smiling. "The things I do for you, Ben."_

* * *

I watch a fizzling wire sway to and fro for the hundredth time, spiting sparks with every lazy swing, and I pray with every fiber of my being that this is not Heaven. If it is, I have spent my entire life setting the standards impossibly high.

I suppose my one consolation is that if this is Hell, it's not as bad as people tried to make it out to be.

Cotton is moister than my mouth. Even when I was a prisoner on Hydra Island I didn't feel this broken and useless. Mud dries and crackles on the side of my face. I cannot muster the strength to move. Not one inch.

I sleep.

* * *

I awaken to total darkness. The swinging wire has long since stopped sparking, and the sun is nowhere in sight. Bugs buzz noisily in my ear, so I try my best to flick them away by jerking my head.

I hear a pitiful whine.

"Brandon?" I gasp, surging with purpose. My fingers dig deep into the earth, sloshing through mud as I probe around for my friend with my useless limbs. "Brandon?"

A weak bark alerts me of his close proximity, and I drag myself closer to him, slogging through slush on my belly like a snake. It takes a lifetime to reach him.

His chest heaves with each labored breath. As my hands roam over his body, I discover his front leg has been sliced clean in half by a hunk of metal. "Brandon," I wheeze in horror. "Brandon, can you hear me?"

Brandon gives two sharp barks and then whimpers.

I blink in the darkness. Brandon's bark is the same sound as his voice, but for some reason I can't translate the meaning behind it. "I can't understand you."

Two barks and a whimper.

"Shh. It's okay, baby. I've got you." I lay down beside him, squeezed under a low-hanging beam. Brandon stretches his neck to lick my face and gives another agonized whimper. "I won't leave you," I whisper. My fingers roam his fur, searching for wounds, but the only major injury he seems to have sustained is the loss of his front leg.

Pressing my face into his fur, I grieve silently. I can no longer understand Brandon anymore than I can understand the birds chirping overhead or the tree frog croaking loudly in the distance. I can no longer understand what animals are saying, and that can only mean one thing.

Jacob is dead.

* * *

_She has a dog._

_ A vicious sounding dog._

_ As the seconds tick by, I begin to debate whether or not to leave her items on the porch and retreat back to my own house._

_ The door opens before I have the opportunity to leave._

_ "Ben?" Cora struggles to keep hold of the massive dog pawing at the door. "Sit, Brandon! Sit! Sorry, I don't know what's gotten into him lately," she tells me. "Sit, boy!"_

_ I'm not certain what breed of dog it is, but it looks strikingly similar to a wolf. Brandon barks franticly at me, twisting and tugging in an effort to free his collar from Cora's tight grip. He succeeds._

_ I back up off the porch and miss a step, falling backwards into the grass as the massive beast pounces on me. I close my eyes, awaiting sharp teeth and pain, but I receive a gleeful yipping and wet tongue instead. Brandon runs circles around me, barking like mad, and every once in a while he'll plop down beside me and roll around._

_ "I am so sorry!" Cora shrieks as she hurries down the porch steps. Before I can push myself up, she has dropped to my side in the grass. "Ben, are you hurt?"_

_ "No," I lie hastily. "No, no, I'm fine."_

_"I cannot believe you, Brandon," she seethes. "Bad dog! Sit!"_

_Brandon will have no part in her commands. The dog continues to whimper and bark and lick my face as if I am its own mother._

_"He really likes you." Cora stares at me with an unsure smile. "He's not usually good with strangers."_

_ I try to laugh it off as the crazed hound makes one last lap around me before bounding back into the house. "You dropped your keys before you left."_

_ "Oh! Thank you." Cora retrieves them with a hearty laugh. "You saved me a very nasty mental breakdown tomorrow morning."_

_ I stand and brush off my pants. "I wanted to thank you for tolerating my father tonight."_

_ "Oh, don't worry about him. I think he's sweet." Cora smiles. "We should have dinner again sometime. It's nice not to have to eat alone."_

_ "I'd like that."_

_ "How about tomorrow?"_

_ "Tomorrow?" My first instinct is to tell her the truth—I have too many other obligations to fulfill—but her suggestion is tinged with such hope that I don't immediately know what to say for fear of making her more homesick._

_ "I like cooking," Cora explains. "I just don't like eating by myself. My family always eats meals together. I . . . I miss that."_

_ I have stacks of essays and assignments that need to be graded, but if I go in early tomorrow and work straight through my lunch break, I should be able to dwindle it down to a workable number. Even if I have to stay up all night grading papers . . . well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time. At least in this instance I'd have a good excuse for procrastinating._

_I don't have it in me to disappoint her. "I don't see why not."_

* * *

When I was a little girl, I remember hearing stories about women and children committing impossible feats of strength when faced with imminent death.

I now believe those stories to be true.

"One, two, _three!_" A groan of pain and frustration rips out of me as I hoist Brandon up onto my shoulders. His head and front legs—or what's left of them—hang down over my left shoulder, and his tail and back legs hang down over my right. His stomach is draped behind my neck, pressing against me so I'm forced to keep my head down.

We are trapped in a maze of crossbeams and wires with only the faint light of the moon to help me navigate our escape. Careful to duck down as best I can when the beams hang too low, I force my burning muscles to cooperate.

I push out from under a particularly tight space and burst into humid night air. The trees are alive with unfamiliar chirping. I blink sweat out of my eyes.

"We did it, Brandon. We . . . oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Separating us from the rest of the jungle is a high, circular wall of dirt that inclines upwards for at least a dozen feet. We are smack dab in the middle of a bowl.

"Son of a bitch," I grumble. "Why can't anything just be easy for once?"

* * *

_"Are you sure I shouldn't take a plate over to your father?"_

_"He really isn't feeling well," I lie. "Hasn't left his room all day." Another lie. Roger practically leapt from his wheelchair and did summersaults in the kitchen when he heard Cora wanted to make dinner. When he suggested I eat at her house, I didn't argue. If anything, it means I no longer have to sit through awkward questions and rude comments._

_"I'll make him a plate for you to take before you leave."_

_"Thank you. He'll appreciate that. So," I start, "how was your first day with the invalids?"_

_Cora grimaces. "Could have been better. I walked into the first class of the day to a penis drawn on my white board."_

_I roll my eyes in sympathy. "Welcome to high school."_

_"I told the class I sincerely hoped it was drawn by a virginal young lady because I pity any male who honestly thinks such a misshapen and anatomically incorrect member is a healthy genetic occurrence."_

_I haven't laughed this hard in a good, long while. "Did you ever figure out who the culprit was?"_

_"Considering the boy in the front row turned so red you could cook an egg on his face, I'd take a wild guess that he at least had some part in the prank. I believe his name is Karl."_

_We talk over a meal of homemade tomato soup and steamed mussels. I relay stories of my first teaching experiences to help placate her growing fear that she's not cut out for this line of work. "It will take some time for the kids to warm up to you, but it seems to me that you've got a handle on things for the time being."_

_She smiles over her glass of wine. "Let's hope it lasts."_

_My eyes flicker to the clock hanging on the wall behind her, and I'm not surprised to find that I've stayed far longer than I originally planned to. It looks like I'll be spending tonight under a lamp with my red grading pen. Essays and assignments be damned._

* * *

"Daniel?" He's sitting slumped against the outermost portion of the massive hole, unresponsive. A metal rod protrudes from out of his shoulder, and for a horrible moment I think he is dead. Upon closer inspection, I discover the rod penetrated the shoulder opposite of his heart. "Daniel?" I ask loudly. "Can you hear me?"

He stirs. "What? What happened?"

"You've got a rod through your shoulder. Can you pull it out?"

"What?" he asks groggily. "What is . . . what is this?"

"Hey, listen to me. You need to get that rod out of your shoulder, okay?"

"I'm not dead," he says in wonderment. "How am I still alive?"

"That's the million dollar question, now, isn't it?"

"Where are we?"

"The present day, if my memory isn't completely shot to hell. Now, get up. Brandon is a lot of weight to carry, and we need to find a stream."

"I should be dead. I'm supposed to be dead."

"Shut up, Daniel." This snaps him out of his daze, and he stares up at me with wide eyes. "We did not just survive a freaking hydrogen bomb so we could die in the middle of nowhere. Get up."

"I can't."

"Don't give me that bullshit." I shift Brandon on my shoulders. "My right ankle is broken, the muscles in my upper left arm have been shredded, I can't feel my fingers, and I'm pretty sure I've got a chunk of metal stuck in my thigh, so if I can carry myself _and _Brandon, you sure as hell don't need my help."

"It didn't work," he mumbles.

"Tell him there are more dogs in Heaven than cats." Charlotte kneels beside the whimpering madman, but he takes no notice of her. "Tell him I won the bet."

I'm too tired for this. "What?"

"If you want him to listen to you, tell him Charlotte says there are more dogs in Heaven than cats. I win the bet."

Daniel lights up when I repeat her message. "Who told you that?"

"Charlotte."

"When?" he demands.

"About three seconds ago."

He looks around.

"You can't see her," I tell him. "She's dead."

"Yes," he confirms with uncertainty. "Yes, I . . . I know that."

"Daniel," says Charlotte, and this time he seems to hear her. "I need you to get up."

Daniel looks around, frightened and hopeful all at once. Charlotte looks at me, but I don't need her to ask. I'm already leaving.

It isn't long before I find a stream. Falling to my knees in the gravel, I gently lay Brandon down near the water so he can drink. I reach down with a cupped hand and gulp greedily until my stomach bloats with content.

Daniel stumbles into view, looking utterly lost. I don't mention his red, glistening eyes, nor the reason behind them. His conversation with Charlotte is none of my business. "How's your shoulder?"

He grips tightly to the bleeding wound. "I don't know."

"We need to get moving. I'm afraid if I fall asleep again, I won't ever wake back up."

"Don't move." A dark figure approaches from out of the brush, flanked closely by two shadowy figures wielding loaded bows.

"Who are you?" I ask.

The leader gets closer and tilts his head. "Cora?"

A young woman to his left pulls a scarf down to reveal her familiar face. "Lady Cora?"

I only knew her for two days, but I would never be able to forget the face of the girl who volunteered to go to war with me. The girl who pleaded to be my coverguard. The girl who defeated all other opponents for the opportunity to fight at my side. "_Anjali?_"

"Lady Cora?" I recognize Peter standing to her left.

"Hey, Cora." I watch as the leader pulls down his own scarf to reveal himself. He smiles at me in the moonlight, light glistening off his white teeth. "It's been a while."

I look up at the young man who has grown so much since I last saw him, and I wonder what on earth he's doing here. "Hey, Walt."


	45. Bring Your Kids To Work Day

_"You sound stuffy. Are you sick?"_

_ "No, dad. I'm fine."_

_ "Have you been crying?"_

_ "No, dad." _

_ "Because if you're homesick, your mother and I can fly out there for a visit."_

_ I bring the knife down on the cutting board, sniff at my runny nose, and laugh. "I'm chopping onions, okay? Not that I don't miss you guys."_

_ There's a muffled voice on the line, and then my father asks, "Your mother wants to know if those kids are treating you right."_

_ "They're high school teenagers, dad. They're a little too preoccupied with themselves to give me any thought." A knock on my front door makes me smile into the phone. "Dad? I have to go. My sauce is burning."_

_ "Alright, kiddo. I love you."_

_ "I love you, too. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I'm sure I'll have another crazy school story by then." I return the home phone to its dock and open the front door. "Verdict?"_

_ "Verdict?" Ben gives a perplexed grin and shifts the brown paper bag in his arms. "I think the verdict is that I shouldn't be in charge of the classy grocery shopping. I don't know the first thing about wine."_

_ "As long as it isn't dry wine, we should be good."_

_ "Dry?" he asks uncertainly, shifting the bag in an attempt to re-read the label._

_"My mom loves it, but I think it smells like foot and tastes like a diaper." I inspect the bottle and turn towards the kitchen in search of a bottle opener. "I'm using it to cook the mushrooms, so if you want to drink some, speak now or forever hold your peace."_

_Ben produces a small bag of dog treats and shakes them high in the air. "I bought these for Brandon." A quick glance around and Ben's brow creases. "Where is the little demon?"_

_Hearing his name, Brandon comes bounding into the room, tail thudding heavily against the floor, and knocks over two chairs in a frenzied attempt to eat all of the treats at one time. He eventually settles beside Ben's seat, gnawing happily on a rawhide._

_"How do you manage?" Ben mumbles._

_"I'm used to his antics by now," I say. "My parents own a wolf sanctuary back home. We've got a whole pack of them running around. But, uh . . . I don't exactly think the homeowners association would appreciate me keeping him here, so I'd appreciate if you didn't spread the word."_

_Ben makes a gesture across his lips, as if locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key. "He would pass for a Husky, if anyone asked."_

_I snort a laugh. "Yeah, a mutant Husky."_

_"Just tell them he was part of a science experiment gone wrong."_

_Cold sweat dampens my palms. Adrenaline pumps furiously into my veins, and for the briefest of moments, I have the overwhelming urge to hide under the table. Needles, knives, and cold steel flash one after another in a pulsing migraine assault. My nostrils fill with the strong odor of antiseptic, fueling my confusion and fear. I shake my head to try and clear these blurred thoughts, but they linger nonetheless._

_"Something wrong?"_

_"I'm fine," I answer too quickly. Turning the stovetop burner down to a simmer, I take a seat at the kitchen table and force a reassuring smile. "I think I've been watching too many horror movies recently."_

_ Ben sips from a wineglass as I hoist a heavy stack of essays onto the table. "This is a goldmine. I'll win for sure. Alright, what do we have this time?" I sift through the stack, eyeing plenty of hopefuls. "Haha, look at this one." I extract a one-page essay and wave it in front of his face. "The assignment was a minimum of four pages on the major themes in Emma. They barely wrote two full paragraphs."_

_ "Unfortunately, I have a trump card." Without even looking at me, Ben holds out a white piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger. He holds it out away from himself with enough disgust to suggest that it actually smells as bad as it looks. "Four page minimum with at least three academic sources."_

_ I grab the paper and read, "Napoleon was French." I flip the paper over to inspect it for some hidden genius. "Wait . . . this can't be it."_

_ "I win," says Ben. "Although, to be honest, I don't view it as a victory that students don't pay attention in my class."_

_ I slap the shameful paper down on the table and retreat to check on the mushrooms. "So, I figured out who's behind the drawings on my board. And the dead rat in the plastic bag under my desk. And the centipede in my desk."_

_ "Who is it?"_

_ I stir the mushrooms and swivel my neck to show him my annoyance. "What can you tell me about Jane Alpert?"_

* * *

"Cora, wake up."

Through my fluttering lashes, I can just barely see Jacob standing over me in the darkness. I groan and shift to my side, bones grinding in pain. "I thought you were dead."

"I am dead."

Sighing heavily, I force my eyes open. I've been placed on my bed in the Temple. One lone torch hangs on the wall, casting more shadows than I'd like. "What do you want, Jacob?"

"You slept through it."

"I slept through what?"

In answer, Jacob points a finger at the door.

The hallway is desolate and dank, bringing a stinging chill up my spine as I pad along the stone floors barefoot. Outside in the courtyard of the Temple, I shield my eyes from the sun as they slowly adjust to the bright light of day. Squinting, I find the limp remains of Gail slumped against an outer wall, blood caked to her forehead.

Before I can run over to help her, I notice her body is not alone. The courtyard is in utter ruin from some undisclosed disaster. Bits of stone and plant matter lie scattered across the remains of men, women, and children. Death is pungent in the air. Anjali has not survived the slaughtering, and from the position of her body, she died trying to save her brothers and sisters.

And then I see her lifeless form strewn across the dirt like a fleshy rag doll, and my heart stops dead in my chest.

My baby.

Jane.

* * *

"Easy, love," a warm, motherly voice commands. "Easy."

I pry my eyelids open with a gasp, sweat instantly stinging my eyes.

Cool water dabs against my forehead. I listen to the sounds of a rag being wrung out, water dripping into a bowl, before the rag returns to my forehead. "It was only a dream."

I look at her face, stunned to find she is not the youthful woman I've known for the past three years. "Ellie?"

"I'm here."

"What . . . what happened?"

Eloise pats the rag against my feverish skin. "I was hoping you could tell me."

I try to sit up so I can have a look around, but my ribs scream in protest. Brandon has been placed next to me on the bed. His stump leg is wrapped up tight, and he stirs at the sound of my voice, but he doesn't have the strength yet to open his eyes. "What are you doing here?" I ask her.

Eloise helps me up into a sitting position. "I've come to collect my son."

_Son. Son? Who's her son?_ I remember. "Daniel. Is he going to be okay?"

"He'll live," she answers curtly.

None of this is making any sense. I don't trust my memory by any means, but for some reason my brain thinks Eloise shouldn't be here. _Was she not supposed to be here during the show?_ "When did you come back to the island?" I ask.

"About four days ago." Eloise abandons the bowl of water and fixes me with an intense stare. "When did you?"

She used to have darker, fuller eyebrows and lashes, but old age has bleached them away to an almost white delicacy. The frown lines that used to wrinkle her forehead when she was upset have now made a permanent residency in her skin, which has softened into silk. I'm supposed to be this old, as far as she knows, but she doesn't ask me why I haven't aged like she has.

"Yesterday," I answer, and then I pause to think. "Actually, I'm not sure. That all depends on how long I was unconscious."

Before Ellie can question me further, Anjali and Gail push through the door with pails of water lapping at their sides. Gail makes a small noise of surprise, but Anjali forsakes the pails completely with a loud exclamation of joy.

"Lady Cora? You're awake!" Anjali rushes to my side and anxiously clasps my hands. "I was so worried we would lose you."

The young woman has significantly matured these past three years. Any sign of roundness in her face has chiseled away to reflect the intensity of her strength. I wouldn't be surprised if she's done nothing but train while I've been gone. I squeeze her hand with reassurance. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me for good."

"I'm glad to hear it," says Walt from the doorway. A long knife juts from a strap on his belt, and a series of smaller throwing knifes are strapped to a strip of tight cloth that crosses over his chest. Walt carries himself in an assured manner that makes him seem taller than he already is, which is saying a lot considering he's grown so tall it only takes a few strides for him to reach my bed. Along with his voice deepening, he has chosen to shave his head nearly down to the skin, and he wears a perpetually serious expression unbecoming of someone his age.

I don't even try to conceal my confusion. "When the hell did you become so badass?"

"I need to talk to you," says Walt. He shoots the women a sideways glance. "Alone," he clarifies.

"I'm her coverguard," Anjali interjects, one eyebrow raised in defiance. "You have no right to order me away from her side."

"Dogen's orders, Anjali," Walt clarifies. "I'm sorry."

Gail, now as old as Eloise herself, straightens her posture in a threatening stance, peering up at him. "I will not be moved from this spot, young man. Just you try to move me."

I rest a hand on Brandon's head and stroke behind his ears to soothe his restless dreams. "Whatever you have to talk to me about can be said in their company. If Dogen wants to talk to me, why isn't he here?"

Walt walks back to the closed door and slides a long piece of wood across the slots on the sides to secure it shut from the inside. We wait in anticipated silence for him to walk back over to my bed, his boots scratching against the rough stone floor. When he finally decides to share his news, his voice is hushed, as if worried unworthy busybodies are listening intently at the locked door. "Dogen's busy trying to decide what to do next. He wants to know where you've been, Cora."

"I wish I could tell you everything, but we don't have time." I remember my nightmare of the Temple in ruins. My nightmares have a tendency to illuminate at least some aspect of the future. I can't chance not believing in them now. "Jacob is dead, Walt. We need to evacuate this place immediately. Something very bad is about to happen."

* * *

_The Island, Present Day_

_Once, when I was a young boy, I watched Cora help an orphaned skunk assimilate into the human community. At first the skunk wanted nothing to do with anyone and would hide for hours on end, curled up tight under her front porch._

_Jane reminds me of the poor creature. She squats low to the ground, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet, her fingers twisted tightly into her freed hair. I don't remember the last time I saw her without a tight braid down her back. In fact, I think this might be the first time I've seen her with her hair undone at all._

_I was unaware of Jane's close relationship with Jacob. Learning about his death made her even more unstable than she already was, so when that thing tried to take Richard hostage, Jane darted from the safety of the trees to defend him. Faster than I could have possibly stopped her, she was on him with a knife. Without even trying, Jack's likeness disarmed her, rendered her unconscious in front of the frightened onlookers, and disappeared into the trees with an equally unconscious Richard slung over his shoulder._

_Ilana squats next to Jane in the sand, whispering words of comfort and reassurance, no doubt. Every once in a while, Jane's eyes light up with recognition, and the two women begin speaking with unparalleled speed. From what I can gather, the two are old childhood friends, despite my never having met Ilana before. Then again, I didn't meet Jane until she was almost ten. There's a lot I don't know._

_David paces nervously in the sand nearest Jack's open coffin, head whipping around at every sound within the trees. I stare at Jack's body. His real body. The body that John and I dug up from his family plot in the same cemetery I shot Matthew Abaddon in cold blood._

_A crab scuttles across Jack's temple. I walk over to the coffin and kick the hungry crustacean away._

_"We need to move," says David. "Ben, that thing might come back to finish the job."_

_"Jane?" Neither of the women respond. "Jane," I continue, "David's right. We need to go."_

_"Go?" Jane lifts her head up enough to glare at me through a layer of dark black curls. "Go where, exactly? There's no point in hiding from him. Don't you two get it? We have to kill that thing."_

_"Yeah?" David interjects. "You already tried that, twice, and look how far that got us."_

_"There has to be a way to kill it," she whispers to herself._

_"Kill it?" David barks a laugh. "You shot him through the heart, Jane, and that freak of nature didn't even stumble."_

_"What do you want me to do, David?" Jane shoots up from her crouch, ignoring Ilana's protests. "I didn't see you rushing out there to help save dad."_

_"You're calling him dad now?"_

_ Giving his chest an aggressive shove, Jane barks, "I can call him whatever the hell I want."_

_I hook my leg against Jane's inner ankle and pull sharply, tripping her. She lands in the dirt with a grunt and rolls onto her back, seething. I simply point from David to the ground and he sits without question. "You two want to act like children, I'm going to treat you like children. I'll give you a moment to compose yourselves, and then I expect you to be ready to leave. I have a good idea of where to start looking."_

_"Where are we going?" Jane hisses through clenched teeth._

_"The Temple. But first and foremost, we're going to bury Jack's body. I don't feel right leaving him to the wildlife."_

_"I am going to the Temple as well," says Ilana. "There are questions I have for their leader. Are you coming with me, Jane? We can make it there by nightfall if we leave now."_

_Jane fixes her swollen, weary eyes on me, and I nod. "Go," I tell her. "Go get your father back. I'll be right behind you."_

* * *

Despite our healer's best efforts, the splint holding my ankle together doesn't do much. Alongside Ellie, Gail attends to me as I recover. The two women fashion me a staff from a sturdy tree limb, which makes hobbling around on my own easier. Every once in a while I'll accidently put my full weight on my broken ankle, and the cracked bones grind together with a sickening crunch.

I've barely made it outside the confines of my room when I'm accosted by an angry woman I've never met before. She points at me. "Is this her?"

I squint in the sunlight. "Excuse me?"

"Are you Lady Cora?"

"Oh shit," I mutter under my breath when I get a good look at her. "Do we know each other? I think I know you."

"You know me?"

I study her dark features, assured that I've seen her somewhere. "I can't remember your name, but yeah. I'm pretty sure I know you."

"How is that possible?" she asks suspiciously. "I've never met you before in my life."

"There is a very interesting and confusing answer to that, but I don't have the willpower or the time to dive into it right now." I peer around her and direct a group of children towards the entrance of the Temple, where Walt, Peter, and Anjali have already begun leading a mass Exodus. "What do you want? I'm very busy at the moment."

The woman clutches tightly to a flimsy cloth bag the size of my fist. "My name is Ilana," she says, "but I assume you already know that."

_Ilana? Ilana._ Flashes of half memories surface for a split second, but it is enough information to remember the basics: Brought to the island to do something cool. Blows herself up. Compete waste of a character. "What do you want?"

"I heard that you speak with the dead?" She holds out the bag in offering, and I notice it's coated in what looks like ash.

"That better not be a cremated corpse."

Ilana retracts the bag and holds it to her chest. "It's Jacob's remains. I want to know who killed him. Can you ask him?"

"Look," I say as kindly as I can, "I would really love to help you, but that isn't how this works for me. Dead people just show up around me whenever they feel like it. I can't summon them."

Disappointment and frustration settles over her features.

"Who you need to talk to is Miles Straume," I offer. "He can read the final thoughts of the dead."

Ilana shifts from one foot to the other. "Where can I find this man?"

I shrug. "I haven't seen him in a while. Probably back at the old Dharma barracks. Oh, and here's a bit of free advice. If someone asks you to carry a backpack full of dynamite . . . tell them to shove it up their ass."

"Excuse me?"

"You better get moving," I tell her. "You might be able to reach the barracks by nightfall if you leave now." She turns to leave, and all at once I remember that she was, at least at one point, in a group with Ben in the original show. "Excuse me," I call her back, "but have you met anyone recently named Benjamin Linus?"

Ilana looks pensive as she watches a group of young girls toddle past, bundles of provisions strapped to their backs. "There was a man by that name on my plane."

I lean harder on the walking stick to keep from falling over. "Where is he?"

"At the beach, burying a body."

"Burying a _what?_"

There's the sound of a scuffle in the distance, and then I hear, "Not now, David."

I perk at the name. "David?" Searching for the dark haired boy, I find his adult likeness and struggle to stay standing. It's my David. I can tell by the delicate structure of his face. His eyes. His nose. It's him.

David leans away from me with an uncomfortable smile when I approach him and gently cup his face with my free hand. I run my fingers over his features, marveling at just how beautiful of a man he's grown up to be.

"What is she doing?" David asks Charlie, who has appeared beside me.

"Admiring how you've grown," Charlie answers. "You've gotten bloody giant since she last saw you. Me too, for that matter. I remember when I still had to help change your nappies. You owe me big time for that, mate."

David leans away from me, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"Hasn't anyone told you?" asks Charlie. "David, Cora is your adoptive mother. She's the one who brought you here from Italy."

"I'm not adopted," he argues. "I was born on this island. Richard's my father."

"No, he isn't," I say. "I stole you from a nunnery while I was on vacation in Florence. Richard was with me at the time, but he's not your father. Not in the biological sense, at least."

David's sharp eyes dart to mine as the news sinks in. He studies my face, searching, searching for a flicker of memory.

An angry woman pushes to the front of the crowd. "What's going on, Ilana? Why is everyone leaving?"

"Jane," I whisper in awe. Releasing my hold on David, I approach Jane with such euphoria I fear I will faint. I need to caress her face. I need to feel for myself that she is real.

She swiftly twirls out of my reach when I attempt to embrace her. "Whoa, what the hell?"

I am consumed with the need to embrace her, to hold her and never let her go. There is so much I want to ask her to help fill the void where memories of Jane's childhood should be. I missed Jane's childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. I never had the opportunity to give her life advice. My travels through time skipped right over my daughter's entire life, and I missed all of it. I birthed a woman that is currently older than I am.

My baby. _My baby._

"Back off," she warns. "Seriously, I'm happy to see you too, Cora, but lay off."

And then it sinks in. "No," I choke. "No, no, _no! _What are you doing here? Get out! Get out, right now! _Get out!_"

* * *

_The Island, Present Day_

_ As I near the Temple, I have the horrible feeling that something is wrong. Taking extra precautions to conceal myself silently through the trees, I approach the outer wall. All seems to be in order. I don't see smoke or debris or any other clue to make me believe the sacred security of this place has been compromised._

_ A figure moves to my left. I pursue with caution, revealing myself when I see who it is. "Sayid?"_

_ "Ben," he acknowledges._

_ One hand resting on the gun in my waistband, I ask, "What are you doing out here?"_

_ "Looking for the Temple," he says._

_ "What's at the Temple?" I prod._

_ "I was told it can heal me."_

_ "You look fine to me."_

_ Sayid smiles and raises his shirt, revealing a deep gash across his midsection. "Your wife gave me this."_

_ "Don't move." I feel a gun pressed to the back of my head. Hands grope the pocket with my weapon, and my gun is extracted._

_ From out of the trees, Jack walks into my line of sight. "Hello, Ben."_

_ I stare at Sayid. "You're working with him?"_

_ "You remember the plan?" Jack asks._

_ Sayid nods._

_ "Remember not to let Cora see you. She doesn't trust you as it is. There's no telling what she might do if she discovers you here."_

_ Sayid turns to enter into the sacred grounds, and my heart begins to race._

_ "Sayid," I plead desperately, "I don't know what this thing told you, but if you go through with whatever his plan is, a lot of innocent people are going to die. If you let this thing in the Temple, he'll kill everyone inside. All of them."_

_ Sayid nods. "I know," he says._

* * *

A burst of energy knocks me off my feet. I don't know how, but the monster is here. Something must have happened to Dogen. _My children. Where are my children?_

I crawl along the ground, searching for my walking stick. Screaming engulfs every corner of the courtyard. This was once a place of parties and music. Now all I can hear is the crumbling of stone and pleas for help. My fingers prod the ground, finally colliding with the long piece of wood, and I push myself to my feet.

Silence. After so much noise, the silence leaves a painful ringing in my ears.

I spin around, looking at the destruction, but I'm overjoyed, if not confused, to find everyone alive. The massacre in my nightmare has not occurred. Men, women, and a few unfortunate children stand around, huddled together, frozen in shock.

"Cora," I hear the last voice I expected to.

I find him among the quickly parting crowd. Sweat dots my forehead as I struggle to piece together memories. _Is he good? Bad? Are my memories real, or are they tainted with the memory of what he's supposed to be?_

_Most importantly, if John Locke is still alive . . . does that mean Jack isn't?_

"I need you to come with me."

"Yeah?" I yank the corners of my mouth up into a smile. "Well, I need you to go to hell."

Jack returns my smile. "I had a feeling you'd say that." I see the glint of metal and recognize the long, thin syringe in his hand. Completely involuntarily, I stumble backwards in a maddening attempt to distance myself from danger. Sirens wail through my memory, and my thoughts are filled with _hide hide hide hidehidehidehidehidehidehide_

Just when I think all hope is lost, Jack reaches me, splayed in the dirt, and tucks the needle away in his backpack. Even without having to look at it, my heart races from the sudden shock of it all. I am shivering despite the heat, powerless to stop the tremors. _It's gone. It's okay. You're okay. It's gone. He can't hurt you._

"I was originally going to make this easy for you, but it turns out destiny had other ideas." Jack waves a hand, and Richard, David, Jane, and Ben are brought before me, forced to kneel like a mock execution.

I look at Ben first. His eyes widen, his expression blank. Something, deep down, tells me that I should be overjoyed to see him, but all I feel is fear and I can't stop blinking. _Why is he so old? I don't remember him being so old. Why isn't he a child? What the hell is going on? Where am I? I want to go home. Dear God, I just want to go home._

Jack steps in front of me, blocking my family from view. "I need your help getting off this island, but I'm the last person you would ever willingly help, am I right?"

I try to look around him in search of Ben. There were memories about to be unearthed. I know there was. A little more time, and I'd remember.

"You've grown quite the reputation in your short stay here. These people," Jack waves at the frightened crowd, "all love you like a god. Lets see who you love the most, shall we?" Jack steps up to Richard's kneeling body and places a hand on the top of his head. "Is it your lover, constantly doting on you against your will?"

Richard will not look at me.

Jack shakes his head, amused. "No, I don't believe it is." He approaches David next, who flits his worried eyes at me. "How about your adopted son? He was always a good boy. Never caused you any problems. Remember how soundly he would sleep through the night?"

Tears roll helplessly down my cheeks.

"Not quite," says Jack, and he approaches Ben. "Is it your dearly beloved, back at last from the abyss?" His smile widens. "We're getting closer."

Jack places a hand on Jane's shoulder, and my entire body clenches.

"I think we have our winner," he announces. "You know, they say there's nothing quite like a mother's love." Jack steps away from all four of them and looks around at the courtyard of remaining Others. "What would you offer me in place of Jane's life?"

A sob escapes me when I answer, "Anything."

"Anything?" he echoes with a false air of surprise. "What about your own life?"

"Yes."

Jack circles back and stands behind Ben. "What about your husband's?"

_Oh, God. Oh, God, please help me._

"Speaking of your husband, has anyone told him yet?"

I can't think straight. "Stop," I plead through blurry vision. "Stop, please."

Jack raises his voice to project to every corner of the Temple. "Does anyone else find it incredibly sad that this man dedicated his life to your beloved Lady Cora, and she repays him by coupling with the first pretty face that pays her attention?"

For the first time in a very long time, I have no idea what to do.

"How about the entire Temple?" Jack asks. "The lives of everyone at the Temple in exchange for Jane. How about that?"

I don't know where this is going. I don't know what he wants. I don't know where Walt and Anjali and Peter are, or if they could even help me if they were here.

A knife is in Jack's hand as he approaches Jane, and I am delirious with pain and panic screaming, "Yes! Yes, whatever you want!"

Jack lashes out and pins my broken ankle hard against the ground, shattering the splint.

"I want you all to take a good long look at your so-called protector," he yells over the piercing screams that rip from my throat as he grinds my ankle harder under his boot. "You idolize a false prophet. This woman is not a hero. This woman is nothing but a liar, an adulteress, and a murderer. You heard her for yourselves. She would trade all of your lives for the life of her daughter. This woman, who swore to protect her people, would trade all of their lives, all of _your _lives, to satisfy her selfish needs. You mean nothing to her. You have all been deceived."

Jack grabs a fistful of my hair and effortlessness lifts me up off the ground so I'm forced to stare at him. I listen to the soft sound of a knife sliding against its case, and then the glinting metal is pressed against my face. Jack holds the knife close to my ear, sawing off the majority of my hair in three sharp tugs. As soon as the hair is sheared off, I fall face first onto the dirt, unsupported.

A woman starts screaming in terror. The little girl clinging to her dress is sobbing.

"Such a disappointment," Jack mutters under his breath. I feel the sharp kick of his boot for only a second before I'm unconscious.


	46. Make A Wish

_Tom_Sawyer108 is now online._

_ wolfgirl23: hey_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: hey is for horses, girly. How are u?_

_ wolfgirl23: I'm great, you?_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: bought that shoe brand you recommended. Now my heels feel fantastic when I chase after criminals (I think my partner has plans to steal them right off my feet)_

_ wolfgirl23: YAY! I'm glad I gave good advice for once :)_

_Tom_Sawyer108: U still having trouble with that one girl?_

_wolfgirl23: Yeah, but I have a parent teacher conference with her father next week. That should be fun._

_Tom_Sawyer108: I'll be rooting for you_

_My most recent letter from home sits open on the kitchen counter. In the photo they included, my father, sisters, and brother smile at me from the front of our Kentucky home. My eyes reluctantly travel to my mother, and I instantly regret it. Everything back home seems to have remained the same, which only serves to highlight how much my move halfway across the country has changed me._

_I stare at the picture of my family and drum my fingers against the kitchen counter, thinking up the words I want to ask. I type my question into the IM box on my laptop but quickly erase it._

_ Tom_Sawyer108: U still there kiddo?_

_ wolfgirl23: Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you hadn't made one specific life decision? _

_ Tom_Sawyer108: I try not to dwell on the past. Whatever happened, happened. Nothing you can do to change that. You're not homesick again, are u?_

_ wolfgirl23: a little_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: not thinking bad thoughts?_

_ wolfgirl23: no no I'm fine, just homesick_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: sure?_

_ wolfgirl23: promise_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: whatever happened to that teacher friend of yours? You haven't mentioned him in a while_

_ wolfgirl23: my neighbor? _

_ Tom_Sawyer108: sweater vest guy_

_I laugh into the open air, piercing the silence and waking Brandon. He pads over to my chair and plops down at my feet._

_ wolfgirl23: You know those old dogs who just lie there and let obnoxious newborn puppies jump all over them and chew up their stuff because they're so old they honestly don't care anymore? Pretty sure my neighbor is that dog._

_ Tom_Sawyer108: he told you you're obnoxious?!_

_ wolfgirl23: no_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: usually if someone finds another person obnoxious, they avoid them at all costs, not constantly invite them on dinner dates_

_ wolfgirl23: we're not dating_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: I think you might want to tell him that_

_I lean back in my seat, face warming. Are Ben and I dating? I don't even know at this point. It's been almost seven months since I first moved in next door and met the Linus's. We eat dinner every night together, but I think that's just because he has a problem saying no. _

_If I were talking to anybody else, I wouldn't have the guts to admit it, but for as many years as Tom_Sawyer108 and I have been chatting online, I still don't even know his actual name. I may feel close to him, but in the end all he amounts to is a guy who claims to be a cop somewhere in California. My secret is safe with him._

_ wolfgirl23: I really like him. I don't know what to do. Advice?_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: have you told him?_

_ wolfgirl23: I don't know how. We work at the same school, and I live right next door! What if he's just hanging out with me because he feels bad for me? I don't think I'd be able to bounce back from humiliation like that._

_ Tom_Sawyer108: Don't discredit yourself. Remember what we talked about._

_ wolfgirl23: do you think I should tell him?_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: Your call. How about this: If you can think of 10 things you like about him, tell him._

_ wolfgirl23: 10 things?_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: its not really all that many_

_ wolfgirl23: Okay. He's really polite and funny and kind and he likes my dog_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: you're counting that?_

_ wolfgirl23: hell yeah! my dog is crazy_

_ Tom_Sawyer108: fair enough_

_ wolfgirl23: He's smart, thoughtful, he can cook, he has nice eyes, idk. Now I can't think._

_ Tom_Sawyer108: you can't think of 2 more?_

_ wolfgirl23: He makes me feel calm. Does that even make sense? He has a really smooth voice. Like I can actually feel my anxiety lessen when we're around each other, and he makes me happy. Also, I think I secretly like sweater vests._

_ Tom_Sawyer108: tell him_

_Nervous anticipation pools in my gut as I type "I don't know if this goes against your code of conduct, but I could never express in words what your friendship means to me. I owe you my life. Now that I'm in California, do you want to meet in person?" into the message box without pressing send. It's a question I've wanted to ask him since we first met in a suicide prevention chatroom a week after my thirteenth birthday. He talked me out of some really stupid ideas, claiming to be an off-duty cop assigned to helping teens choose life over death, and we've kept in touch ever since. I don't know if Tom_Sawyer108 is actually a cop, but whoever has been typing to me these past seven years has helped me cope with what happened to my mother, and I want to meet them to thank them in person. Taking a deep, deep breath, I gather my courage and push send._

_I flinch in my seat as Brandon lets out a sharp bark of warning and bolts towards a mouse scurrying across the kitchen floor. "No, Brandon!" I yell. "Leave it alone!" I chase after the two of them. Brandon corners the panting fluff ball in the corner of the bathroom. Scooping up the frightened mouse in a cup, I make my way back to the kitchen in search of a container to keep him in until I can figure out where to drop him off. I don't have the heart to kill him, but I don't want him getting back into my kitchen, either._

_ My doorbell rings, and Brandon loses his mind again._

_ Ben smiles when I open the door. "You've made a new friend."_

_ "What?" I look down at the cup. "Oh! Yeah, poor little guy. Brandon chased him all over the house."_

_ "I thought I'd bring this over." Ben hands me the arm-length Christmas tree I purchased yesterday on a whim. "You better take it before my father grows anymore attached and I'm forced to buy one of our own."_

_ I laugh at the truth behind his words. I have absolutely no doubt Mr. Linus has pestered Ben to buy a tree, even though they have no practical use for one. "Come in." I wave a hand towards the kitchen area where we always conduct business. "I'll just put this in my room and we can get started on Principal Reynolds stupid survey project."_

_ The tree fits perfectly on the little table seated under my bedroom window. I bought it while carpooling to the store with Ben yesterday, and I accidently forgot it in his trunk. It was an overpriced rip-off, but I'm glad I bought it. I won't be able to visit my family this year for Christmas, and I needed some kind of pick-me-up this holiday season._

_ Ben and his father have invited me to spend Christmas with them, and I've already wrapped both of their gifts. After a particularly lengthy chat with Tom_Sawyer108, I settled on the perfect homemade presents for the both of them._

_ I suck in a mortified breath as I remember the subject of my recent chat with Tom_Sawyer108. Ben is in the kitchen. My laptop is in the kitchen._

_ I never closed my laptop._

* * *

_The Island, Present Day_

_I gently stroke her clammy forehead with the back of my fingers, but whatever nightmare she's having is too powerful for my comfort to have any effect. Her eyes shift rapidly under her closed eyelids. Her temple pulses. Every once in a while she violently flops her head to one side, wincing._

_ "Is she gonna be okay?"_

_ I know she means well, but its still an aggravating question—one I don't know the answer to. "That's a little too broad of a question, Jane."_

_ Jane leans in closer, shifts her legs, and blinks groggily._

_ "You should sleep," I suggest._

_ Her eyes immediately dart to Jack standing near the campfire. "I can't sleep with that thing watching me. You sleep. You're the one who has to help carry her."_

_ "Jane's right," Jack interjects over the crackling of the flames. "You should get some sleep, Ben. We've got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."_

_ "No," Cora mumbles miserably, shivering despite the heat. I pull her further into my lap, but she still does not wake up._

_ I run a hand up and down her arms, trying anything and everything to break her out of this coma. "What did you inject her with?" I ask Jack._

_ "Caffeine." He looks up and smiles. "Don't worry about her. It's not a lethal dose."_

_ Jane sits up and snorts with contempt. "If you gave her caffeine, why is she asleep?"_

_ "You don't know much about your mother, do you, Jane?" Jack lets out an amused hum and nods towards where Richard sits secluded from the rest of us. "You should ask your father."_

_ "Don't talk to me about my family," Jane sneers. "Don't you ever talk to me about my family, you son of a bitch."_

_ "If you're not going to sleep," Jack continues, "you might as well learn about your heritage. Your mother lived a very eventful life. Isn't that right, Richard?"_

_ I stare Richard down, willing him to look at me, as if his eyes alone will explain why the hell my best friend and trusted advisor had a child with my wife. But Richard is lost in his own little world, worrying his hair with shaking hands and mumbling Spanish to himself._

_ Jane takes notice of her father's state and scoots over to him._

_ I continue to run my hands up and down Cora's arms in a desperate attempt to soothe her dreams, and that's when I notice them peeking out from under the long sleeves of her tunic—raised pink scars, too many to count, snaking all the way up both her arms._

_Jack tosses another log onto the fire. "Do you want to know how she got those scars?"_

_ I know what happened to her arms. They were scared like this when I was a child. She went crazy. She hurt people. Hurt herself._

_ "Those aren't self inflicted," Jack explains._

_ I look up sharply. "Excuse me?"_

_ Jack sidesteps Sayid and takes a seat beside me in the dirt. I clutch Cora tighter. "You're right about aspects of her life. She was crazy, for a time. She killed a lot of people. But those wounds were not a product of her insanity. Rather," he pauses, "her insanity was a product of those scars."_

_ I don't want to listen to anything this imposter has to say, but on the other hand, Richard doesn't seem willing to offer up much of an explanation anytime soon, and like he said, Jane doesn't know anything about her mother._

_ Jack takes my silence as an invitation to continue. "Tell me, Ben. How much do you actually know about the Dharma Initiative?"_

* * *

_Oh, God. Oh, no, no, no, no!_

_I scramble out of my bedroom, back to the kitchen. Ben has seated himself at the kitchen counter, dangerously close to my open laptop. For a brief moment, I surge with an overwhelming hopefulness that his respect for privacy outweighed his curiosity._

_I flush with pure horror when he looks up and announces, "You have a new message."_

_Without even checking to see what Tom_Sawyer108 has posted, I slam the laptop closed and stare intently at the company logo etched on the front. Blood rushes to my face with a searing shame and all-encompassing mortification. If the world decided to open up wide and swallow me whole, I would gladly oblige._

_"Aren't you going to check the message?" he questions. "I can wait."_

_I don't trust myself to speak._

_Brandon notices my distress and hurries over to lick my hand. His comforting gesture helps break me out of my stupor, and I take a reluctant seat next to Ben. _

_Ben sits silently for a long while before finally clearing his throat and shifting ever so slightly to face me. "At the risk of sounding inappropriately invasive, may I offer some friendly advice?"_

_I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I nod instead._

_"I don't think . . ." Ben trails off before grasping onto words. "How well do you know the person on that chat message?"_

_I've found my voice at last. "Huh?"_

_"It's just . . . I don't think it's wise to meet people in person that you chat with online."_

_I blink at him. This is so far from where I thought the conversation would go that I don't know how to formulate a response._

_"That's how young women go missing all the time," Ben continues. "I heard about it on the news."_

_A nervous chuckle escapes me. "Oh, well, I mean, we've been chatting online for . . . seven years? And he's never so much as asked my real name. Swears he's a cop and not a child molester." I roll my eyes and laugh nervously again. "I'm not holding my breath."_

_ Ben frowns. "And you plan on meeting this person?"_

_ Now I'm embarrassed for a completely different reason. I feel like I'm being scolded. "Well . . . yeah."_

_ "How did you two meet?"_

_ I look away, heart racing at the flood of memories leading up to that fateful day. "I don't want to talk about it."_

_ Ben leans his face against his propped up hand. "That's not very reassuring."_

_ "This is none of your business," I snap defensively. Then I notice the family photo and letter from home laid out in front of him on the counter, and I snatch them both up, hastily shoving them back into the envelope._

_ I've startled him. "Cora—"_

_ "If you're so worried, maybe you should come with me," I say sarcastically._

_"Maybe I should."_

_"I was joking, Ben."_

_"I wasn't," he says sternly, without so much as a hint of humor. "If you're honestly set on meeting this person, whoever they are, I would feel much better about the situation if you would allow me to come with you. We could pretend not to know each other. I could sit nearby until we know for sure this person isn't an immediate threat."_

_This whole situation is making me uncomfortable, but I don't know how to reject his offer. Ben looks so dead-set on making sure I don't go alone that I'm a little afraid of not taking him with me. "Okay," I agree, drawing out the word._

_Relaxing, Ben sighs. "I'm sorry, Cora. That was rude of me. I don't mean to pry into your life." He reaches up and takes one of my hands in his own. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to you. Especially something I could have helped prevent. I wouldn't be able to handle that."_

_I look down at our clasped hands and my conversation with Tom_Sawyer108 echoes through my thoughts: tell him._

* * *

The Island, Present Day

"Shh, Jane, I think she's waking up."

A man's face hovers over me in the crisp morning sun. I twitch awake, my nightmares resurfacing, and I push out of the man's embrace. "Get away!" I scream, but my scream of fear quickly turns into a scream of pain. "My ankle," I shriek, "_what the hell did you do to my ankle?!"_

"Good morning, Cora." A tilting Jack walks sideways into view with arms overflowing with papayas. "I was hoping you'd be up by this hour. Hungry?"

Inflammation has made it near impossible for me to move my ankle at all, not that I want to. Red, purple, and black mix together in a dark rainbow of bruises and swelling.

I feel dizzy and sick. I don't know where I am. I don't know what is happening. I don't know why my head is caving in on itself, ears ringing with a deafening shrill. I don't know who this is, or why I'm here, or if I'm in danger, although a voice in the back of my mind tells me I am. So many voices. So many different voices all fighting to be heard.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Cora?"

Familiar. The voice is familiar, although it has been such a long time since I've heard it that I can't be completely certain it is real. I risk opening my eyes to check, and they focus on the smiling figure kneeling next to me. I blurt out, "Who the hell are you?"

Ben's smile falters. "What?"

"What's going on?" I look around the camp for some shred of sanity to settle my mind. Despite being guarded by a small group of about armed six men, the only one I recognize is Sayid. "Where am I?"

"Here," Jack offers me a water bottle. "You'll want to hydrate your system. It will help settle your confusion."

The man they claim is Ben reaches out to touch my face, and I growl at him, kicking wildly with my one good leg and snapping my teeth in warning.

"I wouldn't touch her just yet, Benjamin," Jack warns. "The effects of the caffeine are still flowing through her veins."

Benjamin? No. That doesn't make any sense. I'm in 1975. Benjamin is 12. None of this makes any sense. My head is pounding, pounding, _pounding . . ._

"That's what Richard is for," Jack explains. "Time to make yourself useful, Ricardo."

A bird shrills a song on a tree branch above me, and my blood runs cold. I cannot understand what it is saying. It continues to sing, and I concentrate on trying to decipher the different pitches in the chirps. Nothing.

My hands find my hair, pulling, raking through my—hair? I scrunch my nose in confusion at the lack of hair sifting through my fingers. Probing fingers grab aimlessly at the shortened strands, each no longer than the length of my hand. My hair is gone.

"Richard?" I ask him when Jack forces him to sit beside me. "I don't understand what's happening."

"You haven't figured it out?" Richard's wide, red-rimed eyes focus on me. Seeing me has awoken a spark, shattered a layer of apathy inside him, and he reaches out, grabbing me roughly by the shoulders. "Cora, don't you see?" he pants desperately. "We're all in Hell."

* * *

_"I'll have the egg salad sandwich on wheat, please."_

_"Sure thing, hun." The waitress scribbles down my order on a small yellow pad. "Anything to drink?"_

_"Coffee, please."_

_She nods. "Coming right up."_

_I rub my sweaty palms on my pant legs and try not to stare sidelong at the booth Cora designated as her meeting spot. I took a seat at the other side of the diner on one of the many unoccupied bar stools facing the open kitchen. Each time the door to the diner opens, my head shoots up, alert, as I scrutinize the visitor._

_A small, selfish part of me hopes this strange person doesn't show up at all, and I feel horrible for it. For whatever reason, Cora has her heart set on meeting them, whoever they are. She would be shattered if after all this time, the stranger stood her up._

_The waitress returns with my coffee, and I've just barely taken a sip before a man saunters in who instantly sets himself apart from the crowd. He's not an elderly gentleman here out of habit, or a family man treating his kids to an afterschool meal. He's a young man, maybe early thirties, blonde, handsome. There's a cocky, self-assured gait to his step as he saunters in through the door, and my heart slowly sinks in my chest when he begins to look around._

_Cora quickly slides out of the booth when she sees him, and the two exchange their first words. Words that I, unfortunately, am too far away to hear. I watch as the man holds out a hand in offering, but Cora rejects it, opting instead to embrace him tightly around the middle._

_"Hey, buddy. Is there a problem?"_

_I blink and turn to the man seated at the stool beside me. I hadn't even noticed his arrival. "What?"_

_"You've been glaring at my partner over there since he got here. Something wrong?"_

_"You know that man?" I wag a thumb at the cop seated across from Cora._

_"He's my boss."_

_"Is he a police officer?"_

_"We both are." He holds out a hand to shake. "Officer Straume."_

_"If you don't mind, may I see your badge, Officer?"_

_"Call me Miles. I'm off duty."_

_"Alright, Miles, may I see your badge?"_

_Miles rips open a pink packet of sweetener and taps it into his coffee. "You have a problem with cops?"_

_"That young woman over there?" I gesture again to the booth. "I'm here to make sure the man she met online isn't a mass murderer or a rapist here to drug her drink."_

_Miles sits up straighter, interested. "You her father?"_

_"Father?" I exclaim in surprise. "No, I'm . . . I'm her neighbor."_

_Miles takes a sip of coffee while he studies me. After placing his cup back down, completely missing the coaster, he wags a finger. "Oh, shit!" Miles laughs. "You're sweater vest guy?"_

_"I beg your pardon?"_

_"Ah, sorry," he stutters, returning to his coffee. "Never mind. Here's my badge. See? Not a rapist. Well," he pauses, "actually this badge doesn't prove that, but believe me when I say I am not a rapist. Funny story, actually. Officer Ford asked me to come along with him for the same reasons. I think he was mostly afraid of being catfished by a really old chick posing as a troubled teen, you know?"_

_ Troubled teen? Cora mentioned they met about seven years ago, but she didn't mention specifics. "You know their story?" I inquire. "Where exactly did they meet?"_

_"Sorry, sweater vest—I mean . . . wait, what's your actual name?"_

_I'm not sure how insulted I'm supposed to be that a complete stranger keeps addressing me by a clothing item. "Benjamin," I say slowly, suspicious._

_"Well, Ben, I'm not at liberty to disclose that information. That'd be breaking all sorts of confidentiality laws." Miles takes another sip of coffee and starts trying to stack all of the individual servings of jelly and butter from the baskets that hold the menus. "If you want to know, you'll have to ask her yourself."_

_Cora didn't seem too interested in sharing her story the last time I tried to ask, which makes me worried for two reasons. How horrible must the site have been for her not to want to share, and if she doesn't feel comfortable sharing that information with me, what does that say about the nature of our relationship?_

_Officer Ford throws his head back with a laugh and smiles at Cora with such warmth it makes my stomach sick._

_How in the world am I supposed to compete with that?_

* * *

Hydration has worked miracles. My ears have stopped ringing, my migraine has significantly lessoned, and I can remember basic facts, like how I lost my hair, or that Jack—or, rather, this _thing_ masquerading as him, since Ben recently explained to me that the actual Jack was killed back on the mainland—is not to be trusted.

The downside is, I remember more than I would like to.

Seeing Benjamin has unearthed too much. I can't look him in the eye, despite his persistence to engage me in conversation. My responses are limited to one or two words each, and to my everlasting shame, I mostly feign confusion so I won't have to confront him.

"Where are you taking us?" Jane asks.

"On a little detour," Jack answers. "Won't take long. There's someone I need to have a talk with."

I hobble along as best I can with Ben's help. I sling an arm over his shoulder and use his body as a crutch to keep from putting too much pressure on my shattered ankle. By midday, I'm worried that I know where we're going. I wait until Jack calls for our group to make camp before consulting Ben. "I think he's taking us to the Barracks," I whisper.

"Why?"

"I don't know why, but I used to take this path all the time when I traveled back and forth between camps, before—" I flinch at the sharp cry of something unidentifiable off in the distance. Every muscle in my body tightens, straining acutely in an effort to comprehend what is being said. I hear the noise again, but it is meaningless to me now. _Is this what it's been like for everyone else? Hearing strange noises and never being able to discern what is innocent chatter and what posses a genuine threat? _I'm no longer tired, and my wide eyes scan the trees in the hopes that even though I cannot understand what is being said, maybe I can see what exactly is shouting.

"What is it?" Ben asks.

I don't see anything. "I don't know."

"What do they want?"

I shake my head. "I don't know."

"Please tell me what's going on," Ben pleads, his voice low. "I don't understand what's going on."

"You're asking the wrong person. My memory isn't a very reliable source. I'm not even positive I remember exactly who you are," I admit miserably. "But I'll try my best. What do you want to know?"

Ben's lips quickly part, but he changes his mind before he asks anything. Instead, they press together tightly as he stews over what question to ask first. I watch as a man with a rife strapped across his back throws a bundle of kindling on the pit he's designated as the campfire.

"Ben," I whisper urgently, ashamed that I've only just thought of it. "Where is David?"

"Jack let him leave."

"What?"

"Back at the Temple," he says, "he cut him loose and let him leave."

"I want you and Jane and Richard to run for the beach. I think I can take this guy out. Should be enough of a distraction for—"

"We can't leave," he replies.

"Please don't start that _I can't leave you behind_ shit. Jack needs me alive. He doesn't need any of _you_ three alive, so I want you to—"

"Cora," Ben interrupts. "He made it very clear that if any of us were to escape, he would find us, bring one of us before you, and end our life to keep you in line."

In the days following my release from the Hydra Station laboratories, my arms would sting with an intense itch that could never be scratched. That itch has returned for the first time in almost a year. I seek to silence the screaming by raking my dirty fingernails up and down the insides of my arms. _You don't have a name. You are 33. Talk to the fox. Oh, we're sorry. We killed the fox. Look what you've done. Just look at the mess you've made._

"Shhh, it's okay. You're alright." I've somehow ended up wrapped in an embrace, and the only thing keeping me from breaking bones to free myself is the scent of the person holding me.

_I'm at the Temple. Christmas carols waft in from the courtyard. I remember saying, "In a completely non-creepy sense, Ben . . . you smell really good."_

_He turned and smiled at me. "You once told me I smell like an advertisement for masculinity."_

I inhale sharply.

"What is it?"

The memories start coming faster—a nursery rhyme joke, a quiet picnic on a field of grass, a fight that ending in his fractured arm. One after another they pile high until my brain pulsates and expands and the pressure is going to kill me.

"You're crying," Ben states with worry. "Is it your ankle?"

"No." I shift myself, pulling away only far enough so I can see his ocean eyes. More tears trail down my face, but I counter them with a smile and reach out to touch his cheek, fingers brushing against rough stubble. "I remember you."

* * *

_"Who spit in your bean curd?" my father jabs._

_I place the stack of expensive porcelain plates I'd purchased for this very occasion down with a little too much force, and my father winces._

_"Really, Ben," he continues. "What's wrong? I've never seen you like this."_

_"Nothings wrong."_

_"Oh, God," he moans. "Did you and Cora have a fight?"_

_I retreat to the kitchen for silverware, but my father wheels himself in right behind me. "No, we didn't have a fight."_

_"It was that man," he muses. "Wasn't it? She went to meet this guy, and they hit it off, right? I'm right, aren't I?"_

_I sift through the kitchen drawers in search of the special occasion silverware. "It was only a matter of time before something like this happened," I mumble._

_"Don't tell me you're giving up."_

_I slam the drawer closed and round on him. "Yes, I'm giving up, and I'd really appreciate if you'd stay out of my business for once. I happen to be filled with nothing but unadulterated elation that she's found herself someone younger and more important than me!" I lower my voice, struggling to keep my composure. "I have never asked you for anything, but I am asking you here and now . . . do not speak to her unless it is about the food or her hair or some trivial holiday matter. Can you, just for once, do this for me?"_

_I expect my father to react with disdain or confusion. I don't expect him to look genuinely saddened at my childish outburst. "You love her."_

_I don't answer, but I don't need to. Cora's knock saves me from explanation. "Please, dad," I beg on my way out of the kitchen. "Just drop it."_

_I open the door and am promptly assaulted by a handful of confetti and a loud party whistle. "Happy birthday!" Cora exclaims with a one-armed hug._

_I fake a smile at the dish balanced in her free hand. "I said I would cook this time."_

_"I know," she says sheepishly, "but I couldn't resist. I made a cake."_

_"What kind?" my father questions, thankfully accepting my request involving inquiries._

_"Fruit cake," she replies slyly. "And I made sure to include extra prunes just for you."_

_"You better be lying."_

_"Of course I'm lying!" Laughing, Cora pulls off the lid and uncovers an iced chocolate cake. "I remembered how much you hate icing, so I made sure not to ice half of it, just for you, Mr. Linus."_

_"You're too good to me, sweetheart." My father pats her hand, smiling. "Ben, you haven't wished her a happy birthday yet."_

_"Haven't I?" I pull out a seat for her to sit down. "I'm sorry. Happy birthday."_

_I watch as Cora's excited smile slowly deflates. "Is something wrong? You seem sad."_

_"Tired," I answer. "I'm sorry if I seem like a downer."_

_"Well," she announces with a bright smile, "you won't be glum when I tell you what I'm getting you for your birthday."_

_My face scrunches in confusion. "You've already given me my gift. It's under the picture of a Christmas tree I taped to the wall in the living room."_

_Cora laughs. "No, that's your Christmas present. I don't adhere to the abominable tradition of only gifting people with December birthdays one gift. I had a lot of cheesy relatives that pulled that crap on me as a child, and it drove me nuts. My brother and sister's have spring birthdays, and they all got separate birthday and Christmas presents. It's a total scam," she huffs._

_"Well, good," I say. "Because I also got you separate gifts."_

_"Let's eat first," Roger begs. "I'm starving."_

_I try to keep a cheery nature for Cora's sake. Not that she's ever been gloomy before, but tonight she is particularly animated and bright. The knowledge that I'm not the reason she's so cheerful surprisingly stings harder than I'd ever admit aloud._

_"You sure are cheerful," my father observes between bites of mashed potatoes. "Something you'd like to share?"_

_Dammit, old man._

_Cora chews a bite of casserole and clasps her hands. "Okay, so there's this guy I've been talking with online for about seven years, and we just met last week for the first time face-to-face. It turns out he's exactly who he said he was. How often does that happen? I must be the luckiest girl in the history of the internet!"_

_I lock eyes with my father just as he says, "Well, how about that."_

_"Speaking of James," Cora continues._

_"James?" I spit out, dropping my fork._

_"Officer Ford," says Cora._

_"Right."_

_I wait for her to continue, but when I look up, she seems upset. "I, um . . . he invited me to this big fancy Christmas party. It's being hosted by the Widmore company. You know, the one that manufactures—well, nevermind. It's going to be this grand party, and the band Driveshaft will be there, and there's supposed to be forty world-renowned chefs cooking six course meals."_

_I smile kindly. "It sounds like you two will have fun."_

_Cora fidgets nervously. "Oh, well, I'm going to ask if he can get another ticket for you. Wouldn't that be fun? It will give you a reason to wear that tuxedo you said has been gathering dust in your closet."_

_The last thing on earth I want to do is spend hours stuck at a dinner party where I'll be forced to watch Cora make googly eyes at Officer Ford, so my manners and etiquette take a shameful backseat to this new jealous monster building up inside me. I glance up from my food, look her right in the eyes, and say, "No, thank you."_

* * *

_My stomach hits the floor and I pale with embarrassment. I don't know what I've done wrong._

_ "Oh, would you look at the time," Roger announces uncomfortably. "I have to . . . go take my medicine. That's in my bedroom. On the other side of the house."_

_Ben doesn't even watch him wheel out of the dining room and down the hallway. Our eyes are locked on each other, and no matter how much I'd like to look away, I cannot._

_ "Have I done something wrong?" I whisper._

_ Ben's expression softens, and he sighs. "Cora, I'm sorry. If you want to go to this party, I would be happy to accompany you."_

_ "No you wouldn't," I whimper._

_Do not cry. Are you serious? Get ahold of yourself. Just pick up your stuff and leave. You've obviously worn out your welcome and were too preoccupied with your stupid crush to notice just how annoyed with you he's become. Officer Ford was wrong. Ben has allowed this friendship to continue for as long as it has because he's polite, but everyone has their breaking point. Leave now, before you cry. You can cry when you get home._

_"I should leave," I say and reach for my purse._

* * *

_ What am I doing? I have been, for lack of a better word, a complete asshole to her since she arrived. It doesn't matter how jealous I am, Cora doesn't deserve this! Oh, God, I've made her tear up. What is wrong with me? "Please," I beg, shooting up from my seat. "Please, wait. Cora, I never meant to insult you, I just didn't want to ruin your date."_

_ Her head shoots up at this. "Date?"_

_"I wouldn't want to be a third wheel."_

_"Third wheel?" Something dawns on her, and her expression lightens into a small smile. She coughs a brief laugh. "Is that what this is? Do you think I'm dating Officer Ford?"_

_Well, I did. Now I don't know what I think._

_"Ben, I don't . . . Ben, my relationship with James is . . . complicated. But believe me when I say it is anything but romantic."_

* * *

_I watch several emotions wash over his unguarded face. "But, I thought—"_

_I shake my head. "I see him more as an older brother, if anything. Completely platonic."_

_"Oh." Ben's cheeks pinken before he reaches up and rubs his eyes. "I'm afraid I've made a fool of myself, haven't I?"_

_Is that what all this is about? Has he been jealous of James? And if he is jealous, does that mean he's interested in me the same way I'm interested in him? Officer Ford suggested I tell him how I feel, but I can't do that. I can't do that until he knows the real me. "Ben, if I tell you something . . . will you promise not to think less of me?"_

_Ben looks up from his hands. "Of course not."_

_As so I tell him everything. I tell him all about how ungrateful I was as a child. How angry I was at my mother for not being able to take me to a middle school science club meeting. I yelled at her in the car, blamed her for spending so much time and money on my brother and sister's hobbies and never paying me any attention. I yelled at her so loudly and spitefully that she turned in her seat to try and console me. It was my fault we hit an oncoming car. It's my fault my mother was paralyzed from the waist down._

_"She never hurt a fly in her life, and I was the one who walked away without a scratch." I fill my lungs with a deep breath to steady my nerves. "There was no room in myself for anything but guilt. I stopped caring about school. Stopped caring about friendships. I disgusted myself."_

_I can't read what Ben thinks. He silently waits for me to continue._

_"That's when I—" I pause again. "I, um, I started to have suicidal thoughts, and it scared me, so I went online to one of those cheesy websites they tell you about in school, and there was this chatroom for at-risk teens. The first person to talk to me was Officer Ford."_

_"I see," Ben answers softly. "And you're . . . you're not—" Ben flounders for the word._

_"No, Ben," I admit happily. "I am definitely not suicidal anymore. I have a lot to live for."_

_His whole body relaxes._

_"Ben?" I ask nervously. "You've been acting kind of angry about Officer Ford."_

_He shakes his head. "I know. I apologize for my complete lack of propriety."_

_ "What I mean to ask is—" Even as the words leave my mouth, already too late to take back, my palms begin to sweat. "—are you jealous of him?"_

_It's so rare that I stun him speechless that I never know what to do in the instance that I manage it. "I admit that I was a little defensive," he says. "I felt like he was swooping down out of nowhere and taking you away."_

_Unfortunately, I begin to babble at the speed of light to defend myself and fill the awkward silence. "I've never been the cause of jealousy before. It's very flattering." Ben looks towards the hallway, and I laugh. "Do you think your father's coming back?"_

_"I doubt it."_

_I shift my weight from one foot to the other, and then I have an idea. "Would you like to dance with me?"_

_Ben walks over to a small stereo on a table in the corner of the room and tunes it into the local Christmas station. With one hand resting on my hip and another laced through my fingers, we begin dancing to "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree". _

_Each song makes my heart beat faster. We're so close to one another, it's like a dream. The song switches to "Silent Night" and our steps slow to a lazy sway. I cannot look away from his eyes. "Ben, I need to tell you something before I chicken out again."_

_He stares down at me, all smiles. "Yes?"_

_"I really like you," I blurt out. "I've liked you for a long time, and I was wondering if you would go to the Christmas party as my date."_

_That's two times in one night I've rendered him speechless._

_I look away. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything."_

_"I would be honored to."_

_"You would?" I question with surprise._

_"I'd be a fool not to," he says. "You're a very desirable young woman." While I try not to slam into him from a sudden decline in motor skills, Ben asks, "Did you ever mention me to Officer Ford?"_

_I will my face to stop burning. "I might have."_

_"You didn't happen to refer to me as sweater vest guy, did you?"_

_"You read my IM messages?"_

_Ben laughs and leads us both around the living room. "No, of course not. I ran into Officer Ford's partner, Miles, when we were at the diner. He kept calling me sweater vest guy. I assumed it was due to your correspondence with his boss."_

_"Yeah, the program is really big about names and confidentiality. It was the only thing I could think of in a pinch."_

_Ben smirks. "I'm glad to know I wasn't associated with any of my more negative qualities. You have a whole array of interesting ways you could have described me, like beak nose or bug eyes or Harry Potter, as one student so lovingly called me the other day."_

_I laugh so hard I inadvertently rest my face against his chest and lean into him. "James is really big about promoting a healthy self image. That was one of the major exercises he'd have me do when we chatted. I had to think of ten things I liked about myself and change them every time we chatted."_

_Ben's eyebrows shoot up. "Only ten?"_

_"We started with one. We've only recently made it to ten." I shake my head, embarrassed. "I have a hard time coming up with positive descriptions of myself."_

_"Well," Ben says slowly, "Let's see. You're kind and considerate, gentle, patient." Ben takes a step forward, dancing us both to the back of the living room, and I'm cocooned in a soft cloud of his cologne. "Thoughtful, intelligent, ambitious," he continues, leaning in closer with each spoken word, "charitable, compassionate, courageous, creative, trustworthy, eloquent, friendly, funny." We've stopped dancing. A hand reaches up, and his fingers brush lightly against my cheek before falling back to his side. "Beautiful beyond comprehension, you always smell of flowers—"_

_"That's more than ten," I whisper._

* * *

_I think I may have finally lost my mind, which is saying a lot. I've spent the past twenty years of my life pining after a principal position that was unjustly given to the highest bidder instead of the person who cares the most about the students. I've gone through life a complacent little cog in the giant school system machine, and somewhere along the way, I started to believe that I was as insignificant as the mouth-breathers I'm tasked with babysitting in detention. That is what I've become—a loser, a nobody, and certainly not delusional enough to believe I might actually stand a chance with someone like Cora when the world is full of men like Officer Ford._

_But she just openly admitted that she has feelings for me. I don't know why, and I don't doubt she'll change her mind once she realizes her mistake, but for now I'm content with accepting this odd streak of good luck._

_Nothing has ever looked as beautiful as she does in the soft glow of the Christmas lights my father insisted I hang. Each crystalline bulb shines a glimmering star in her eyes, and it takes all my willpower not to cup her face with my hands._

_"I could keep going if you'd like," I offer. And I could. On and on like a babbling idiot, but something above the doorway has caught her eye._

_I follow her line of sight to discover the small branch of mistletoe I tacked to the arched overhang that separates the kitchen from the living room. It was a holiday habit birthed in the years after I was hired at the high school, back when I was still relatively hopeful I'd find a mate. Never in a million years did I suspect I'd find myself in a position to actually use it, and now we're standing right under it._

_"That's a joke," I explain in a rush. "I put it up every year to—well, I mean, it was . . . it was a—" You're ruining it. You're ruining everything. "What I mean is, we don't have to—"_

_ Cora silences me with her lips, and I have never been so happy to be interrupted._


	47. Till Death Do Us Part

**A big thank you to Jace Lance for your incredibly long and eloquent review! It's always so nice to hear that people enjoy this story.**

**A/N: I also decided to start a Person of Interest fanfiction for anyone that watches that show.**

* * *

_I smile as Ben fidgets nervously with his clothing for the thousandth time. There's something so incredibly enduring in his worry over what people think of him, all for my sake. "I've always liked that shirt."_

_ "What?" he asks, sounding panicked. "What's wrong with my shirt?"_

_ I cross the living room and place a hand over his to settle the nervous tick. "Stop worrying," I soothe and reach up to press my lips against his temple. "They're going to love you."_

_ Instead of his usual sarcasm, all he can manage is a shaky laugh._

_ "Really, Ben." He finally turns to look at me, and I take the opportunity to kiss his lips._

_ He's relaxed when he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. "I have to ask. How did your parents take it when they found out their daughter is dating someone their age?"_

_ I swallow nervously and rest my head against his chest to keep my face hidden._

_ "Cora." Ben's panic shines through with a new intensity. "You did tell them about me, right?"_

_ "I . . . well—" It was only three days ago that my father accidently spilled the beans and told me he'd saved up enough money to fly the whole family to my house for Christmas. I really didn't want to have this conversation with Ben because he's nervous enough, but I can't seem to lie to him. "I told them I have . . . a surprise."_

_"Oh no," Ben breathes, shooting up from the sofa. "You said you were going to tell them."_

_ "It's fine, Ben. Calm down."_

_ In a tornado of nervous energy, Ben paces the length of the room, burying his face in his hands. "This is not something you spring on people, Cora. Especially not your parents of all people!"_

_ "Benjamin," I call softly, and he stops pacing. "Come here, please." Grudgingly, Ben returns to his seat next to me on my couch, and I take his face in my hands. "They are going to love you because I love you."_

_ "I would really like to believe that's true."_

_ My doorbell rings once, twice, and a hundred more times in rapid succession. I release Ben's worried face and laugh. "That would be Cassandra. I bet my life on it."_

* * *

The Island, Present Day

With every cheep and chirp of the birds overhead, my dry throat swells and burns with remorse for the loss of my powers.

It finally sinks in that this is forever. I'll never be able to comprehend animal speech for as long as I live. I'll never again have a conversation with Brandon, or Hurley Bird, or Frogger.

I am suddenly exhausted beyond reason.

"How much farther?" I yell to anyone willing to answer. "Where exactly are you taking us?"

"He's not going to answer you," an amused voice declares at my feet, and I stop dead in my tracks in the middle of the path. "Surely you understand that by now."

Ben stops beside me and asks me a question, but I do not hear it. I'm too busy staring at the animal seated in front of me.

"Close your mouth, dear," Todd chastises with a flick of his bushy red tail. "We've been through this before, Cora. That's a great way to catch flies."

"How are you here?" I whisper.

"You didn't honestly think your powers stopped strictly at dead _humans_, did you? I'm disappointed, Cora."

I smile despite the angry shouts from one of the thugs leading us down the path. "You've just now decided to reveal yourself? I should be the disappointed one."

"I've kept my eye on this situation for a while now, and I think these people have held all the chips for far too long. Don't you agree?" Todd pads over to the man yelling at me to keep moving and looks up at his belt. "This man is hiding a knife in the left side of his waistband. Just thought you should know."

Ben leans in close, careful not to let one of Jack's bodyguards hear him whisper, "Who are you talking to?"

"I'll explain later," I whisper back, just as the sneering man steps up in front of me.

"Is there a problem?" he asks.

"Does it look like there's one?"

"Why have you stopped?"

"Just taking a break." I feel his hand on my shoulder. "Get your hand off me."

His fingers dig deeper into the fabric of my shirt. "Stop holding up the line, then."

"Get your hand off me," I repeat, "or I'll cut it off."

"Don't touch my wife," Ben cuts in, and he roughly shoves the man away from me.

The man stumbles back, momentarily stunned, and then he smiles a cruel, unsteady grin. Quick as a wink, he's pulled out his handgun and placed it against Ben's forehead. "How about I put a bullet right between those pretty eyes of yours?"

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've snapped the man's arm in half at the joint. His wailing screams are anything but manly, but I don't smile at the humorous sound exploding out of him as he falls to my feet. "Anyone else want to threaten my family?" I yell over the shrieks ripping from the man's throat. "Feel like being a badass today? I suggest you get it out of your system now. I'm getting sick of this shit. No? Wise choice."

I've ripped open the stitches in my arm. I can feel warm blood rushing down and dripping off my fingers to the forest floor. Holding my head up high, I clench my teeth and limp around the wailing man, pausing briefly to stoop down and remove the knife from his waistband. "I think I'll keep this, thanks."

"My, my," Todd comments, sounding very much amused. "You _have _changed."

* * *

The day was bright and humid, but the night is ripe with a foreboding chill.

"What the hell are we doing here?" I whisper against the cold window. None of this is making any sense. Jack brought us to the Barracks to rest for the night, and I don't understand the point. We're supposed to be heading to the cave of light, and we could have made it there today if we hadn't made this pit stop.

When Ben speaks, his voice is low and snippy. "Was your question rhetorical, or directed at me?"

I pull my head away from the window and turn to look at Ben. He was the one who recommended we stay at his old house for the night, but he doesn't seem very happy about it. Ben gets the needle caught in my skin, and I cry out.

"Sorry." Carefully, he continues to snip away at my ripped stitches with a pair of old scissors. "That's the last of them," he announces softly. Morbid curiosity keeps me from looking away as he pulls out the ruined stitches with a tweezer and readies the needle to replace them.

I watch as he feeds the needle into my skin, back out of my skin, and tugs it tight before repeating the cycle all over again. His stitches are neat, precise, and effective, but he has gone through great care to touch as little of me as possible while he works.

"Is it true?" Ben addresses me out of nowhere, his voice low and quivering with barely concealed rage. "You've yet to tell me yourself about . . . about Jane."

"Ben—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Is it true?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Ben's piercing stare detects my answer without me saying a word, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. I have never, in my entire life, felt shame of this magnitude.

I wait out the silence, hoping against all hope that if I wait long enough, this will magically fix itself. I never wanted to have this conversation. "Ben," I whisper, "please say something."

Ever so slowly, he looks up to fix me with pleading, genuinely confused eyes. "Why?"

"Ben, if we keep wondering _why, _we'll both end up dying confused and angry with each other."

"I have no intention of dying anytime soon," he snaps.

"I made a mistake." I'm rambling now. Scrambling for some sort of explanation that accurately portrays what life without him has been like. "A lot of mistakes. Mistakes that hurt you, and Richard, and—"

"How long did it take?"

"What?"

"How long did it take before you moved on?" he asks accusingly. "Forgot all about me?"

"Forgot . . . no," I choke on the words. _How am I supposed to explain to him the utter despair his departure put me through? Three long years of wanting nothing but his embrace, wanting nothing but to hear his voice again, and having to settle for the embraces of someone else to keep me from becoming physically ill from loneliness? How am I supposed to explain just how indescribably happy I am that he's returned? Where would I even start? Would he even believe me? _"That's not . . . Ben, that's not what happened. I—Ben, I thought about you everyday from the moment you left."

I just barely catch him roll his eyes dismissively towards the ceiling while he turns away from me to retrieve a roll of bandages.

A sharp lump has already risen in my throat at his blatant dismissal of my attempted explanation. _Does this mean I've lost him? Have I severed our bond? Are we beyond fixing this?_

Ben turns back around to wrap up my stitches, notices my face, and sighs heavily. "Stop crying."

I bring a shaking hand up and swipe away the tears.

"I'm supposed to be angry with you," he explains brusquely. "But I can't be angry if you're crying. Please, stop it."

"I'm s-sorry," I sob.

I sit in miserable silence as Ben finishes wrapping my stitches in a bandage and secures it shut.

_I feel like shit. I look like shit_. I lift my arm and sniff. _I smell like shit_.

"I'm going to run a bath," I whisper. "I'd like to soak in Epsom salt. Hopefully it'll relax my muscles enough to make tomorrows journey easier."

"Do you need help?"

After emerging from the desecrated ruins of the well, the healers at the Temple tried their best to tend to my wounds, but the pool had conveniently stopped working. I was left with a long row of stitches trailing down one arm, a row sealing shut a wound from shrapnel that had burrowed deep into my thigh, and a severely broken ankle. I've managed to get by so far by gnashing my teeth and leaning every so often on Ben, but now that my stitches have ripped open, the full effect of pain has left my whole body throbbing like a violently stubbed toe.

"If . . . if you wouldn't mind," I say.

Ben pushes out of his seat and disappears down the hallway without another word.

* * *

_"CORA!" Cassandra flings herself inside the second I open the door. "Do you like my shirt? Made it myself. Look. You're not looking."_

_"She's not looking," Capri butts in, "because you didn't make it. I did."_

_"Very nice," I praise. My father is out on the street, setting up a wheelchair in preparation for my mother. Instead of excitement, the sight of my father fills me with a confusing rush of sadness._

_"Hello random man on my sister's couch."_

_I spin around and find both Cassandra and Capri scrutinizing Ben like a pair of curious birds._

_"Cora?" my father calls from the front yard, and I rush out, leaving behind a very anxious Ben._

_My father smiles when I approach, and he spreads his arms wide open for a hug. I hurry over the grass, eager to embrace him, but I stop short in front of him, swelling with the bizarre notion that I haven't seen him in sixty-two years._

_How oddly specific. And wrong. I saw him before I moved out here to go to school. It wasn't that long ago. Where is this idea of sixty-two years coming from?_

_"Don't your old man get a hug?" my father complains, arms still spread in anticipation._

_Flashes come again, memories of conversations—revelations—I've had with my father that make no sense to me. I don't understand what's happening, but the confusion I feel suddenly turns into grief, and I rush forward to hug him, weeping into his shirt._

_"Hey," he says, worried. I feel his hand on the top of my head. "What's wrong, pumpkin?"_

_ I pull away and appreciate for what seems like the first time just how happy he looks. His smile is contagious, and somehow foreign to me. I smile despite my confusion. "I . . . I've missed you."_

_ "We've missed you, too. Here, help me get your mama out of the car."_

_ Mom._

_ Seeing her hits me harder than it did with my father, and I haven't even gotten close enough to hug her before I've started crying again. She smiles that kind smile of hers—the one I don't deserve—as she gently wipes tears away with her thumb and kisses my cheek._

_ "I told you she was homesick," my father comments from the other side of the car._

_ "You told us you have a surprise," my mother says. "I have a surprise of my own."_

_ I take hold of her hand as my father closes the car and wheels her up the driveway towards the house. "What is it?"_

_ "No," she says mischievously, "you first."_

_ I had forgotten all about Ben. His face is gleaming with sweat when we enter through the front door. Cassandra and Capri sit on either side of him on the couch, leaning in far too close and grilling him with questions. Casper sits alone, slumped in a chair across the room. I'm not surprised to find he's still attached to the threadbare black hoodie mother abhors. His fingers work diligently at his cellphone as he ignores his surroundings, as usual. Ben shoots up from his seat when my parents enter the room._

_ "Mom!" Cassandra and Capri yell in unison as soon as my father wheels her in. "Cora has a boyfriend!"_

_ Leave it to my twin sisters to ruin everything. "Everyone," I begin loudly in a desperate attempt to remedy the situation, "I would like to meet you all—I . . . I mean, I would like you all to meet Benjamin. He's my neighbor, and we, uh, we work together . . . and—" I had this stupid ice breaker speech all nice and prepared, and now my sisters have fried my brain. "We're . . . dating," I finish lamely._

_ I'm not sure at first how my parents take the news. My father has frozen, his eyes glued to Ben, but my mother's eyes are glued to me. Suddenly, I can completely emphasize with Ben's internal panic, and I make a conscious effort to steady my breathing as my face reddens under the intense scrutiny of my family. Even Casper has looked up from whoever he's texting._

_ Oh, God. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Ben was right. I should have told them over the phone. Why didn't I tell them over the phone? What possessed me to think this was a good idea?_

_ "It's nice to meet you, Benjamin," my mother says, breaking the horrifically long span of awkward silence. "My name is Marguerite."_

* * *

The Island, Present Day

I wait awkwardly by the door while Ben draws me a bath. He checks periodically to make sure the water isn't too hot, adds a gratuitous amount of Epsom salt, and then he shuts off the tap and offers me his arm.

"I'm fine," I lie. "I can manage on my own, thanks."

"You requested I help you," he replies softly. "Just because I'm angry doesn't mean I'm cruel. I don't enjoy seeing you in pain, Cora. Let me help you."

I need his help to get my shirt off over my stitches, but the thought of exposing myself—the thought of him seeing what my time in the laboratory has done to my body—makes me sick to my stomach. I want him to remember me the way I was, back when we were both young. "I just need help with my shirt."

Undressing is a painstakingly slow process. With Ben's help, I don't have to raise my hurt arm very high as he carefully works my long-sleeved tunic off me. Once it's completely off, I turn away and thank him for his assistance.

"Cora, your ankle is so swollen, you won't be able to get in the bath on your own." His voice is calm and collected, but his expression betrays none of his irritation. "It's not as if I've never seen your bare form before." Fingers brush against the small of my back, against a particularly long scar, and I cringe. "When did you get this?"

"Please, Ben." I just want to be left alone.

"Jack told me about what the Initiative did to you," says Ben. "He told me all about your scars."

The mere mention of Jack burns a hole in my chest. _Jack told him about my imprisonment? What the hell does he know about it? _"You don't understand."

"Then tell me."

"What would you like to know?" I retort shakily, spinning back around to face him. "Would you like to know how they locked me in a dark room for days on end? No food, no water, no sound, no light. You want to know how I was forced to watch them torture and kill animals in front of me? How about the shock helmet they used to make me wear? You want to know all about _these?_" I ask vehemently, showing him the undersides of my arms. "You want to know what they did to give me _these, _Ben?"

He's staring at me, repulsion written all over his face.

"You want me to tell you all about how pointless I am?" I continue, growing louder. "I can't speak to animals anymore. Jacob gave me that power, and I lost it the moment he died. I've outlived my usefulness, Ben. I understand that now, and I don't need you to stand there and remind me just how shitty of a human being I am."

Ben stands silently, eyes scanning over all of the injuries I've acquired over the past three years, and the repulsed look on his face never wavers.

Unwelcome tears burn and itch the longer he stares at me. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

Ben meets my eyes, and his expression slightly changes into a smoldering fury. "Is that what you think you are?"

"Your expression gave you away."

"Cora," he corrects, fists clenched and trembling slightly, "I'm not . . . I do not . . . I have _never _found you repulsive. I'm only grimacing at the thought of the pain these bastards put you through." Ben lets out a lungful of air slowly through his nose, calming himself before he continues. "Luckily for them, they're already dead and don't have to deal with me."

Most of my weight has been balancing on my unbroken ankle for the length of our conversation. The muscles in my calf begin to ache, and I waver unsteadily.

When Ben reaches out to help balance me, I'm overwhelmed by the feel of his fingers against my skin. I begin to cry again without really knowing why. "Can you please stay here?"

"While you bathe?" he asks. "Do you need help with that too?"

"Is it enough of an answer to say I just want to talk? I won't insult you with excuses," I tell him. "I just . . . I want to hear your voice."

Ben relents without a fight. "On one condition," he says. "I'd like to hear about what happened in the years after I left the island. I want to hear it from your own mouth."

I try not to cry out in pain as he gently works my pants off and helps me into the bath. Relaxing against the water, I close my eyes and exhale. "I don't even know where to start."

Ben kneels beside the tub, making himself comfortable. "Try the beginning."

* * *

_Dinner has been served, and my family has scattered around the house with their food. My father has singled out Ben, and the two of them have been sitting together on the couch in the living room._

_ My parents seem to be opening up to the idea of the two of us as a couple, although I don't believe I've ever seen my father look as uncomfortable as he is right now._

_ "So, you two work at the same school?" I overhear my father ask._

_ "Don't worry about your father," my mother chips in as she helps me set out dessert. "He's just testing the waters."_

_ "I should have told you both sooner," I admit._

_ "Honey, I don't think your father wants to admit it, but you are a grown woman. As long as you're happy, I don't see a problem."_

_ "So, you're okay with us?" I ask hopefully._

_ My mother raises an eyebrow in question. "As long as I won't have to worry about grandchildren anytime soon."_

_ "Mama," I chastise, smiling._

_ "Just making sure."_

_"Oh," I exclaim, "you said you have a surprise of your own?"_

_She takes hold of my hand and squeezes ever so gently. I can tell whatever she's about to say is exciting by the way she mashes her lips together to keep from smiling. "You know we love you very much, Cora," she starts, and I furrow my brow in confusion, "but our visit here . . . well, honey, it wasn't exactly to visit you."_

_"What?"_

_As my mother tells me about the spinal surgeon they met at an airport the last time they flew out to visit me, I slowly sink into a seat at the kitchen table. "He says there's a new treatment he's offering. Says it's my best chance of walking again."_

_I can't breathe._

_It was my fault that my mother lost the ability to walk, and now, suddenly after years of hopeless consultations, there's a chance that she'll be able to walk again? The news is so spectacular, I cannot comprehend it. I bring a hand up to my temple, trying to process what my mother just said. "When?" I ask._

_"Two days," she answers. _

_ "Mom . . . I don't know what to say."_

_ "Neither do I," she admits._

_ "How insulting," I hear Cassandra sneer from across the dining room. "I'm Capri."_

_ Ben studies her for a long moment before shaking his head, unconvinced. "No. You switched shirts with your sister. You're Cassandra."_

_ The twins exchange surprised expressions, and then Cassandra brakes out into a massive grin. "I like him, Cora," she yells across the room. "He can stay."_

* * *

The Island, Present Day

"Whenever I was in close proximity to my father, I would get flashes of his life—his memories—and experience every last one of his emotions firsthand. I think the same thing happened with Isabella, only I didn't realize it at first because it didn't assault me all at once. It was a never-ending trickle of strong feelings. Feelings I . . . I'm ashamed to admit eventually became completely my own." Ben stops scrubbing my back with a soapy washcloth. "I doubt she meant for such feelings to invade me," I continue. "In fact, I'm certain she didn't. She was too kind a soul for that. And since I didn't notice what was happening, she didn't know to stop. But . . . I just want you to know that I'm not blameless. It's not as if I couldn't have stopped it if I wanted to. And for that I . . . I ask for your forgiveness." I peek at Ben and find him studying me intensely. "You must think I'm a terrible liar. Or insane."

"Neither," he replies after a very long pause.

A rush of relief brings water to my eyes. "You hate me, then."

Ben sighs, sounding as exhausted as I feel. "Cora, I am too full of joy at finding you alive to harbor any hatred in my heart."

Words escape me, and my body's only reaction to this news is to laugh. "My life didn't exactly turn out the way I planned it to."

I feel his laugh more than I hear it. "Does it ever?"

"Ben?"

He wrings out the washcloth and finishes rubbing it in circles along my shoulders. "Yes?"

"I love you," I admit. "And I think I've been in love with you for a very long time." Ben freezes again, and I ask the question I've been dreading. "Do you still love me?"

"Cora," he sighs, looking solemn. We lock eyes again, and the smallest of smiles pulls his lips up at the corners. "I never stopped."

* * *

_The Island, Present Day_

_I watch the swell of her chest rise and fall with each breath she takes. Cora fell asleep well over an hour ago, but I can't seem to stop looking at her. Being this close after fearing I'd never see her again has made me exultant—disturbingly giddy, almost. I brush my fingers against the scars on her arms and wish I could take them away. If it were possible, I'd gladly wear them for her._

_I think about what awaits us tomorrow. Cora knows just as much about Jack's plan as I do, which isn't very much. We can't kill him, and we can't flee from him. We're stuck between a rock and a hard place, and it enrages me that for the first time in a very, very long time, I have absolutely no plan of action._

_When thirst finally becomes unbearable, I break away from Cora's sleeping form and silently make my way to the kitchen. After gulping down a glass of water, I pull the curtains back away from the front window and look out at the night. I wanted to use this moment to reflect on my life, to think of all the positive memories I have of this place. What I don't expect is to find Richard sitting on my porch steps._

_I open the front door, step out into the night, and quietly shut the door behind me. "What are you doing here?" I ask flatly._

_Richard shoots up from his seat and backs up onto the grass. "I wanted to explain some things. About . . . Cora and I."_

_"I think you've done enough, Richard," I answer. "More than enough, if you ask me."_

_Richard turns to look at me, brows raised in shock, but slowly the shock changes into something condescending. "I didn't know she was your wife, Ben. I never would have pursued her had I known."_

_"She never once said anything?"_

_"She didn't know how to tell me she was technically married to a child. All she would ever tell me about you is that you left her here. I just . . . couldn't stand to see her so lonely."_

_He sounds sincere, but his confession only serves to rekindle the rage within me. _

_"Maybe next time," Richard states under his breath, "you'll think twice before abandoning her to a life of solitude—"_

_Richard is doubled over, wiping blood from his mouth before he can finish his sentence._ _I'm on him in a heartbeat, tackling him hard and pining him in the grass with a flurry of fists._

_I've shut out the world, but before I can cause any real damage, Richard has freed himself from my restraints. Spitting a mouthful of blood on the grass, Richard tries to explain himself, but it is useless._

_ "I left in order to protect her," I seethe. "I left her with you because I trusted you. You married us, you son of a bitch!" I launch another fist, but Richard has decided to fight back. _

_"It's not like that," he pleads, blocking and swinging and sometimes making contact. "If you would just listen—"_

_I attack with a reckless abandon, and Richard once again ends up on his back as I beat his face again and again until somehow he's free from my clutches. Richard stumbles away from me, holding out a hand in surrender. His face is as bloody and bruised as mine probably is, and he has to stop to spit out blood._

_"Will you please let me speak?" he asks furiously. "I didn't come here to fight you. You've had your revenge. Please, hear me out, Benjamin."_

_"I have nothing to say to you."_

_"Then let me do the talking," he retorts, spitting out another mouthful of blood. "I need to tell you something important about your wife."_

_"What?"_

_Richard tells me the exact same story that Cora did, only through his own eyes instead of hers. I learn about how they met, about how she'd popped up in his life throughout the next hundred years._

_ "So, is that it?" I ask bitterly. "Are you invoking seniority? You think you hold some kind of claim over her because you met her first?"_

_"Ben . . . there never was an 'us'. Did she tell you she became ill at one point after you left? I had to keep an eye on her to make sure her depression didn't end up harming her physically. Ben, she mourned you from the moment you left. Rejected my advances for almost two years, until I suppose she gave up in despair. For some reason, she believed she was about to die." He pauses to wipe blood from his nose. "As much as I wanted to believe I had won, Cora will never choose me as long as you exist."_

_ "Is this the part where you kill me and stuff my body in a freezer?"_

_ Richard coughs a laugh and shakes his head. "Ben, all your death would serve to do is leave behind a very broken woman who deserves to live the remainder of her life in peace. You honestly think she'd choose to be with me if something ever happened to you? Please. She'd jump off a cliff first." Irritated, Richard heads back towards his own house. "Go, Ben. Be with your wife while you still breathe air. I don't know what Jack's planning, but whatever it is, it can't be good. Who knows what'll happen to us. Stop wasting what little time you have together by being angry."_

* * *

_I don't mean to wake her, but she stirs when I slide back into bed._

_"Ben?" Cora clicks on the beside lamp and inhales sharply at the sight of me. "What happened to your face?"_

_"I had an enlightening conversation with Richard."_

_"Ben—"_

_"Don't worry. He's no worse off than I am."_

_Cora clicks off the light and nestles herself closer to me. I lie still as she tries to get comfortable, eventually settling for using my arm as a pillow. Her skin smells of soap, and I turn my head and rest against her hair. It still feels surreal to be here with her, to have her in my arms once again. I smile and bring up my free hand, running my fingers through her shortened strands of hair._

_Suddenly, I feel her face grow hot against my arm. "Ben? Can I tell you something?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Something personal? Embarrassing?"_

_"If you'd like to."_

_"I think I'm a nymphomaniac."_

_ Just when I begin to think Cora can longer surprise me, she says something like this. It's so far from anything I anticipated her to say, that for a second my fingers pause, motionless against her scalp. "Why do you think that?"_

_"I'm constantly thinking about sex, especially at the most inappropriate of times," she explains. "It's a problem I've had . . . actually, ever since I first met you."_

_"Are you trying to flatter me?"_

_"I'm trying to explain why you need to stop massaging my scalp."_

_Back when I helped undress her for a bath, the fury I felt at the horrific stories of how she received her injuries made arousal at the sight of her naked form impossible. Now that she's pressed up against me, no longer sad or crying about her memories, I can't help it._

_Richard is right. We might all be dead this time tomorrow, so what's the point in fixating on what happened in the past? On what cannot be changed? _

_Cora's eyes look up to meet mine when I continue running my fingers through her hair. "Ben," she whispers, "are you sure? My stitches don't exactly allow me a lot of movement."_

_"There's always more than one way of doing something." I look at the moon from out of the bedroom window and judge the time accordingly. "We have about four hours till dawn. Think that's enough time?"_

_I watch a smile spread across her face as she reaches up to brush my hair away from my eyes. "Just about."_


	48. Monsters Are Such Interesting People

_Despite my initial fear, the Collins family welcomed me into their life as if I had always been one of their own. So when I find Cora out on the front porch, stooped over the first step, sobbing with abandon, I am thoroughly perplexed._

_ Cora lifts her head from her hands, revealing deeply red eyes and a face glistening with tears. "It's over," she whispers, half crying, half laughing._

_ Giving Cora my kindest smile in reassurance, I take a seat next to her on the step. "It wasn't so bad."_

"_No," she corrects with a small shake of her head. "I'm not talking about the party. I . . . God, I'm so happy to see them again."_

_ "Your family?" I've always suspected she was much more homesick than she let on, but I had no idea it was this bad. "Why don't you fly out there more often? It would be easier than for them to fly out here."_

_ "Ben, you don't understand. I haven't seen them in . . . it doesn't matter anymore," Cora whispers. She sniffles away her tears and looks up at the crescent moon, smiling. "Do you remember?"_

_ "Remember what?"_

_ "This is going to sound so strange." Cora lets out a long sigh, sounding more amused than annoyed. "An island? I keep having these unexplained memories that we met on an island a long time ago."_

_ I ponder her words, but the truth is I've never been on vacation to an island. Actually, I've never been on vacation at all. "What island?"_

_ "I don't know what's happening." Cora shakes her head, still smiling. "I have that parent teacher conference tomorrow, and I've only just remembered that I'll be both the parent and the teacher."_

_ "Parent?"_

_"Wish me luck."_

_ "Cora, I'm afraid nothing you're saying is making much sense to me."_

_ "I don't understand it either." She leans over on the step, kisses my forehead, and bids me goodnight._

* * *

_The Island, Present Day_

_I've always been an incredibly light sleeper._

_ Chalk it up to my stressful childhood, or simply my genetic makeup, but either way, the smallest creak of the floorboards or bodily shift in the night, and my eyes spring open in search of the perpetrator._

_ This makes finding Cora's side of the bed empty an exceptionally mystifying discovery. I fell asleep with both arms wrapped around her, so I should have awoken at her departure. Even more surprising is the fact that the sun is higher in the sky than it should be. I tug on yesterday's clothes and hurry to the kitchen to check the wall clock for confirmation._

_ How in the hell did I sleep not only through Cora's disappearance, but also straight through breakfast and almost through lunch?_

_ I step out into the blinding island sun and search the courtyard, concerned that Jack's imposter has led Cora away somewhere without my knowledge. I expect to find the same group of thugs patrolling the area._

_ Instead, I find the barracks full of heavily armed young people._

_"The Disney Princess has finally awoken."_

_I spin around to find Sawyer, arms crossed, as he smirks with considerably less arrogance than usual. "James?" I question. "When did you get here?"_

_"I've been here," he answers gruffly. "When did you all get here?"_

_"I wish we had time for a more thorough reunion, but I need to find Cora."_

_"Yeah?" Sawyer coughs a laugh. "You and just about every other person I've talked to today. Kids running every which way like a pen full of headless chickens. Would you look at that? That one over there is barely up to my hip, and she's holding . . . how many riffles would you say that is?" _

_A tiny toddler collides with Sawyer's legs and grasps the air with a childish mandate of, "Up, daddy, up!"_

_"I thought I told you to stay in the house, little lady." Sawyer stoops to her level and pokes her playfully on the nose. "Come on, darlin'. We better get you home before mama worries."_

_"Rachel? Rachel—oh, God. There she is." Miles, looking worse for wear, stumbles over, panting like he'd just run a mile. "I'm so sorry, boss. I swear I turned around for two seconds and she up and left without so much as a peep."_

_I get a good look at the little blonde girl, and even though I know I've never seen her before, she looks familiar somehow. "I didn't know you had a daughter, James."_

_"Yeah? Well, you've missed a lot, Linus." Sawyer scoops the girl up into his arms and turns to walk back to wherever he's been staying. "Whole damn place has gone straight to hell while you were gettin' beauty sleep."_

* * *

_ I find her seated under the gazebo on the other side of the barracks. She's surrounded by children and adults alike, but only two animals rest in her presence—a zebra lies next to her while she calmly strokes the length of his striped face, and a fully grown boar sits on the other side of her, his head in her lap._

_ Cora seems suspended in a lofty daydream all her own, and it is mere chance that her wandering eyes find me in the crowd. Cora waves me over when she sees me, and I have to wade my way through hoards of people to get to her._

_ "Look who I found," she announces happily. "Marty and Pumba have returned safe and sound."_

_I'd be happy for her if she wasn't currently drenched from head to toe in blood. "What happened?" I ask, reaching out to touch her face. "Are you hurt?" _

_"What?" Cora wipes her cheek with tentative fingers. "Oh, this? I'm fine, Ben. It's not my blood."_

_"Not your blood?"_

_"Three of Jack's men—including the one that kept causing trouble on the hike—thought it wise to assert their dominance by threatening the lives of Juliet and baby Rachel, and . . . well, honestly I may have overreacted just a smidgen." Cora blinks, as if something just dawned on her. "Goodwin might have had a final say in their untimely demise. I'm almost certain I felt his presence for at least a minute or two. Hope it brought him some sort of peace."_

_Before I can ask for clarification, Cora says, "Widmore and I have just had the most enlightening conversation."_

_ For a split second, the world stops, and my chest swells with panic that Cora has seen Widmore, had a relapse, and it is his blood that she's covered in. I relax when I see Charles standing off to the side, completely unscathed._

_ "Come with me, Ben." Cora pushes up to her feet and notices, for what seems like the first time, that she is, in fact, covered in blood. "I never liked this shirt anyway."_

_ I lean in close, hyperaware of the humming bodies surrounding my wife. "Cora, what the hell is going on?"_

_"We have much to discus. Everyone," she shouts to the lingering crowd, and they instantly fall silent. "See Walt for further instructions. Jacob chose well. Walt is the new island guardian, and I expect you to treat him with the same respect you have afforded me in all my years of service. Thank you again for your kindness, bravery, and unwavering loyalty. I hope someday we meet again. Be safe."_

_ As she limps through the gathered children and teens, they each reach out with an excited fervor and brush their fingers against her shortened, blood-soaked hair._

_ "Seems like luck's finally on our side," she tells me when we break free from the crowd. "Jacob decided not to make me his replacement after all."_

_ "It was given to Walt?" I haven't seen the boy since before I left the island. "Where is he?"_

_But Cora isn't listening. "Damn lunatic," she mumbles. "I liked him better when he was a chair."_

_"Walt?"_

_ "No. Jacob."_

_I don't bother asking for clarification._

* * *

The Island, Present Day

I never thought my life would hang in the balance, completely dependent upon the decisions of Charles Widmore, but it's a small world, I suppose.

Turns out the smoke monster isn't all that fond of sonic fences, and during a visit with Charles and Eloise off-island, Jacob disclosed this information along with some information about me. Charles won't tell me exactly what was said, but whatever it was—either a lie, or the truth—changed Charles's mind about killing me to make the world a better place. When the two flew Flight Ajira, they came prepared with portable sonic fences and a select group of scientists tasked with setting up the mini force fields while Charles searched for me and Eloise searched for her son. Along with Walt's help, the barracks were overrun, and the smoke monster was pushed out to roam the jungle alone. Now there are patches of safe ground all around the island, keeping my people safe while I try to execute the final stages of our retaliation.

Ben takes in my impromptu gameplan explanation with a look of uncertainty. "And do you know how to get to this . . . _heart _of the island?" he asks.

"No," I answer and gesture to my feet. "But Todd does."

"Lady Cora?" Anjali has grown tall and lean in the years I was away, and now she stands before me as she once did when we were at war all those years ago, only this time, she has to tilt her head down to look me in the eyes. "I'm going with you."

There's an edge of defiance in her statement that makes me smile. "Of course you are," I answer. "Don't think for a second I'm changing my coverguard policy just because it's the end of the world."

She mirrors my smile and hikes her rifle higher on her shoulder. "Will you be accompanying us, Mr. Linus?"

Ben's eyes dart from me to Anjali. "I'll be able to answer your question just as soon as someone explains how exactly we're going to defeat an immortal being."

Widmore interrupts, but the semi-worried look on his face keeps me from lashing out at the intrusion. "Alpert ran into some trouble on the way back from the Temple," he explains. "Jane made the rest of the trip here on her own."

I ignore the firework in his outstretched hand. "Where is she? Is she alright?"

"I'm fine," Jane answers. As she steps up behind Widmore, I notice a long cut along her shoulder, and I inadvertently clench my teeth.

"You need to bandage that."

"Its just a scratch," she snaps at me. "What we need is to get Richard back. Cora, that thing took him."

_God, not again._ Richard and Jane were sent to the Temple to retrieve fireworks. Whatever Walt's master plan is, it requires me to tamper with the heart of the Island. Once I've made it so the Man in Black can leave, I'm supposed to fire off the firework to alert the group at the beach. What for? I was not informed. But I trust Jacob, and Jacob trusts Walt, so I don't really have a choice.

I face my daughter and force myself to say the last words she wants to hear right now. "Jane, I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

Jane tilts her head to the side in mock contemplation. "What are you doing that's so important?"

"Hopefully, saving the world."

"But Richard—"

"Jane, if I don't do this, then that thing will win, and saving Richard won't matter. None of this will matter, because the world as we know it will cease to exist."

A flash of repressed anger passes over her features, and she looks at the ground before steeling herself to look at me. "I don't know why you're my mother, and right now I don't care, but . . . at some point in your life you had to have cared for him. That thing already took one of my fathers. I can't let him have the other one."

"Oh, blast it all, girl," Widmore interjects. "Let Cora complete her mission. I'll help you search for Alpert."

"You're supposed to help me," I say.

"Take Ford with you."

"No," I snap defensively. "No one is going to go wandering around the island at a time like this. Least of all _you_," I direct to Jane.

As usual, Jane takes offence to my protective instincts, but having Ben back—having my entire family in one place, threatened by a force capable of killing all of them—has served to stabilize the unrest inside my head. My daughter stands before me, nearly thirty-two years older than the woman who carried her to term, and despite the urge to knock her unconscious and handcuff her to a metal rail within the confines of the barracks, I realize all at once that I cannot keep her from searching for Richard. It wouldn't only be a near physical impossibility—had Jane not shown herself to be a much more competent fighter than me?—but it would be selfish to tell her she's not allowed to rescue her father because it might mean her own death.

"I know we don't have the connection we should," I address Jane calmly, "but I carried you inside of me for nearly nine months, and you mean everything to me. If anything were to ever happen to you—" I pause to blink away the disturbing thought. "I would burn this Godforsaken island to the ground."

"The dramatics won't be necessary," says Charles. "I'll bring my team with me. You protected my son in his time of need. I suppose it's only right I return the favor."

"Careful, Widmore." I raise my eyebrows at his proclamation. "Your empathy is showing."

I've gotten used to Widmore's patronizing scowl, so I smile in return when he shoots me the familiar look. "I'm only human," he states flatly.

"Well, you learn something new everyday."

This earns me another one of the looks. "You are surprisingly cruel for someone who has garnered such a following of loyal servants."

"I don't have servants. Only friends."

I catch his bitter muttering as he turns away. "Do they know that?"

* * *

_I wait patiently at my teacher's desk as the rest of the school files out the main doors and loads up on buses headed for home. Parents and grandparents crowd the parking lot, inching towards the exits in their little hybrid cars. Slowly, second by second, the cheeriness of the day's completion is sucked away by a still silence that stretches from my desk out to the asphalt street all the way at the front of the school._

_ I wait._

_ Sheriff Alpert was supposed to meet me here for a conference, but he's fifteen minutes late. I pass the time by straightening and re-straightening the typed sheets I prepared outlining the academic and social problems Jane continues to exert on a daily basis. By the end of the meeting, I must obtain signatures from both the parent and the student explaining the terms they agree upon regarding certain changes the school requires of Jane._

_ At forty-five minutes past our scheduled meeting time, Sheriff Alpert storms into the classroom dressed in his police uniform, followed closely by an intensely sulking Jane._

_ Riddled with nervous anticipation, I shoot up from my seat behind the desk and extend a hand. "Sheriff Alpert, thank you for being here. I was beginning to worry you wouldn't make it."_

_ "Sorry about that," he apologizes, and yet he says it in a way that makes it seem as if it was somehow my fault. "Pulled over a speeding car on the way here. Now, what exactly is this all about? I'm due back at the office in an hour."_

_Right away I can tell he feels none of the bizarre connection that I do. His main objective is a quick speech and an even quicker escape back to the daily grind of his career. Even Jane doesn't seem to care that for some reason I know, deep down in my soul, that I am her mother. I smile tersely, fighting to suppress the flashes I don't understand. "I'd like to discuss your daughter's . . . troubling track record. Please, have a seat."_

_ At the mention of his daughter, Richard straightens and shoots Jane a scathing look. "What's this about, Jane?"_

_ I mention Jane's lack of participation, her overabundance of pranks and crude humor, and the ramifications of her continued behavior. "Your daughter will not graduate with her class if she doesn't show improvement in—"_

_ "Now," Richard interrupts, "just hold on. Graduate? Graduation has never been an issue until today." Instead of fixing Jane with a disappointed scowl, his attention has shifted to me. "You're new here, right? This never happened with Mrs. Persimmons. How long have you been teaching?"_

_ The question throws me off, and I stutter before I can get my response out. "We're here to discuss your daughter's behavior."_

_"Yeah? Well, I find it strange that this school hires you, and now suddenly Jane has all these . . . problems," he says sarcastically. "Is there someone more experienced I can talk to?"_

_ They don't teach you how to deal with difficult parents in the education courses I took in school. You're supposed to already know how to deal with people. That's part of the job. We interact with people for a paycheck._

_ But the condescending way Sheriff Alpert is speaking to me has made my blood boil to the point where I don't trust myself to speak. Nobody will like what I have to say._

_ "The only other way to resolve this," I explain through gritted teeth, "would be to hold a meeting with Principal Reynolds and the remainder of Jane's teachers."_

_ A small walkie blasts some kind of code, and Richard reaches to unclasp it from his belt. The fact that he doesn't seem to care that his daughter is acting out to the point where her grades are at state makes me angrier than the fact that he's blaming my teaching experience for something that goes far deeper than turning in homework or listening to a lecture._

_ Before Richard can press the call button to reply to his fellow officers, I rip the walkie from his hand and slam it down on my desk. "Maybe," I growl, "if you'd spend a little more time paying attention to your daughter, she wouldn't need to act out for attention."_

_ I can tell nobody has dared speak to him like this before, either because he's an officer or just because he likes to throw his weight around. For a few seconds he stares confused at the walkie on my desk. "I'll be sure to contact the principal for a follow up meeting. I'll expect you to attend." His voice trails off when he looks up from the walkie and meets my eyes._

_ I'm not sure how to describe the look on his face—Fear? Confusion?—but he silently stares at me long enough for Jane to ask him if he's alright. Richard blinks, severing our eye contact, and now he definitely looks confused. Has he seen the flashes that so often plague me? Does he feel the same unexplainable connection? Whatever he sees, it clearly makes him feel uncomfortable. Shuffling around, unsure what to do next, Richard calls Jane to his side and heads for the exit._

_ "Sheriff?" I call before he reaches the door. "Your walkie?"_

_ "Oh." Richard returns to my desk and retrieves the device._

_ "I need you to sign this, please. It states you showed up to our meeting." I slide the papers across the desk, and Richard fumbles with a pen while he scribbles his signature on the pages. "I can set up that extra appointment you requested. Do you have a date in mind?"_

_ "Date?" he asks, squinting in confusion._

_ "You wanted to hold a meeting with the principal."_

_"Oh," he exclaims, even though he was the one to suggest it mere moments ago. "No, I, ah, I'll have to get back to you on that."_

_ "Jane," I say, "I need your signature as well."_

_ She approaches with stubborn worry in her eyes, but her worry seems to stem from her father's sudden flightiness more than a sudden onslaught of memories, considering she stares at Richard all the way up to reaching my desk._

_ I breathe a sigh of relief when the two leave._

* * *

_ I give the door a knock and wait._

_ "What is it?"_

_I open the door a crack and peek in. "Principal Reynolds?"_

_ The old man's expression softens. "Ah, Collins. Come in. What can I help you with?"_

_ Principal Reynolds is greying and grouchy, but despite his old age, I've always felt a sense of unease around him. Almost as if I expect him to assault me when I least anticipate. The hallways are emptied of secretaries and general staff, and even the school nurse has taken her leave for the day. Being alone with him makes me hesitate before entering his office. "I have the written agreement from the parent teacher meeting."_

_ "Good. Good. Just put it on my desk." I do as he says, purposely avoiding eye contact, until he asks, "How did the meeting go?"_

_ Evidently, my expression betrays me._

_ "That bad?" I continue to stare at his desk as I listen to him chuckle. "I wouldn't worry about it."_

_ "Sheriff Alpert wants to schedule a meeting with you in attendance," I say. "You and me and the rest of Jane's teachers."_

_ "Let me guess," Principal Reynolds huffs. "The good old Sheriff is the type to believe his precious spawn is a saint and her teachers are the issue, right?" My silence is the only answer I give him. "Tell you what," he says, "how would you like to join me for dinner tonight?"_

_ I finally look up. "What?"_

_ "I've been to many a meeting in my day," he explains, "and I know just the right things to say to save your skin in a pinch."_

_ "You want . . . to coach me?" I ask._

_ "If Sheriff Alpert wants to press this matter further, I may be able to help you keep your job." Principal Reynolds stands up, and before I can make the decision to excuse myself from the room, he's standing next to me. "I knew since your interview that you belong at this school. We need bright young minds like yours to connect with our students. Your individual student improvements have all been excellent, save for Jane's progress, of course."_

_ I feel his fingers brush against my arm, and I pull away. "Thank you."_

_ "It would be a shame to lose you over something like this," he continues. "Something that could be easily fixed with, say, a strong advocate for your continued employment?"_

_ He can't possibly be suggesting what I think he's suggesting._

_ I fly into a panic when I feel his fingers press into my thigh._

_"Go then," he threatens as I run out the door. "There isn't a school district in this state that would hire someone so inexperienced, especially not with a reputation tarnished by our beloved Sheriff! I'm doing you a favor, Miss Collins!"_

_ I know him. I know him, but I've never met him before in my life._

_ I stumble out to the parking lot, panting and fumbling desperately with my purse._

_ My keys. Where are my keys?_

_ No._

_ Oh, no._

_ I look through my car window and see them lying on the floorboard. I try the handle, but it's locked._

_ Unable to cope with everything that's happened today, I fall to the curb next to my car and sob into my hands._

_ "Cora?"_

_ I jerk my head up, ready to flee, but the voice does not belong to Principal Reynolds. "Dr. Linus?" I ask, and then because now I know I'm safe, I continue to sob._

_ "What's wrong?" He drops his worn leather satchel on the curb and crouches in front of me, a worried hand on my knee. "Did the meeting not go well?"_

_ "I locked my keys in the car." Sniffing and wiping at my eyes in a wasted attempt to save face, I ask, "What are you still doing here?"_

_ "The school day isn't over at the chime of a bell. At least not for us." Ben fumbles with his satchel and produces a handkerchief. "Please don't cry. Forget the keys for now. You can ride home with me."_

_ I'm so hysterical I'm babbling nonsense. "No, I couldn't impose—"_

_ Ben cuts me off with a nervous chuckle. "Cora, in case you've forgotten, we live right next door to each other. It wouldn't be any trouble."_

_ "Yes," I say, letting out a shaky breath. Taking a quick look around to make sure Principal Reynolds is nowhere near, I press into Ben's chest, relaxing at the safety that comes with his embrace. "Okay."_

_ "Cora, are you sure you're alright?"_

_ I rest my head against his chest, the wool of his sweater vest rough against my cheek. "It's just . . . I'm sorry, my head's all muddled."_

_I feel his hand against the small of my back. "We can call for a car service after you calm down. If all else fails, we can carpool to work tomorrow."_

_ "Are you sure?"_

_ "Come on," he persists with a kind smile. "I'll make dinner tonight. How does that sound?"_

_ "Yes. Okay," I agree. "Can we please just get out of here?"_

* * *

_ "You're awfully quiet," says Ben. I listen to the steady click-click-click of his turn signal as he pauses at a stoplight. "How did your parent teacher conference go?"_

_ "I'd really rather not talk about it."_

_ "That bad?" Ben gives me a sympathetic smile and pats my tightly clenched fist. "You'll be alright."_

_ My conversation with Principal Reynolds has begun to fester inside me like an infected boil. I want to tell Ben. I want to release this monster inside me so it no longer has any power, but I'm scared of the flashes I saw in his office. I'm scared of what they mean._

_ "Principal Reynolds," I start, but I don't know how to say it. I love this job. I want this job. I need this job. I can't bear the thought of being fired over this, but what he's asking for goes against all my morals._

_ "What about Principal Reynolds?" Ben asks quietly. When I don't immediately answer, he asks, "What has he done?"_

_ I can't stop the tears from coming again, louder than ever._

_ Ben pulls the car over to the side of the road. "Cora, look at me. It's alright. You can tell me what happened. You're safe now."_

_ "Principal Reynolds," I begin, fighting to calm my breathing, "is my father." Things begin to make sense. Memories connect with such fierceness, I become nauseous. My real name is Reynolds. Collins doesn't exist. Collins is the pseudonym my father created to keep his family safe from the Reynolds. "He works at a school." I grimace. "Of course he works at a school."_

_ Ben listens to my discordant musings as I try to make sense of my memories of other people's memories. That's why I know him without ever having met him. I know him from my father's memories. Well, I know him from the memories of the man who raised me. The man who raised me is technically my cousin. Oh, God, what the hell?_

_ "Jane is my daughter," I say aloud. This I now know to be true. "Richard," I say, trying to piece together his role in my life. "Ben." I turn in my seat to look at him._

_ I remember._

_ I recall the first time I saw him, when I was dangling helpless in one of Rousseau's net traps. I feel the tingles of his fingers against my skin the first time we made love, the eventual passion that developed into a marriage that spanned fifty-five years, my erratic anger at his reluctance to tell me things about my past, the resentment, the lust, the confusion . . . so much confusion._

_ Most of all, I remember our children. Eight children in all. During my first pregnancy, I told Ben he could name any boys I birthed if I could name the girls. We had all girls. Ben accused me of rigging the pregnancies, as if such a thing were possible._

_ "What are you laughing at?" Ben asks, more than a little confused._

_ I laugh the rest of the way home._

* * *

The Island, Present Day

Marty shakes his mane as we make our way through the jungle. Even though I cannot understand animal speech, I asked the zebra for permission to ride on his back to the heart of the Island. I cannot understand him, but he must understand me because in answer to my question, he knelt so I could more easily hop on.

"How much farther?" Sawyer asks.

I didn't want him to come with us. Sawyer has a wife and child to look after now, and I cannot guarantee his safety beyond the barrack's sonic fence, but as soon as he discovered this mission would allow us to leave the island for good, there was no convincing him not to help. He knows how much Juliet wishes to go home.

Watching him kiss them goodbye felt so disturbingly final it made me sick to my stomach. Back when I was the leader of these people, I at least had an inkling of an idea as to what the hell was going on. Now that Walt calls all the shots, I find myself in an almost constant state of sickness not knowing what will happen to the people I care about.

Todd trots ahead of us, looking back every once in a while to make sure we're following. "You mortals are such a sluggish bunch," he chastises. "Do try to hurry up. It's not as if the fate of the world rests in our hands."

I still flinch at the sounds of the birds overhead. At this point, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to cope with the loss of my powers. The world seems so frightening now that I cannot communicate with half its inhabitants.

"Stop!" Todd exclaims, rushing back to peer up at me. "Ready yourself, Cora. He's here."

"It's good to see you," a familiar voice announces. I watch as the monster steps out of the trees. "I was beginning to worry you'd hide behind your little fence forever."

The sight of Jack's imposter sends a shiver up my spine, and the only thing that keeps me from flying into a panic attack is the thought that as long as the monster is with us, Jane is free to search for Richard in peace.

I straighten my posture and gently pat Marty's ears to calm him down. "Don't you know," I ask snidely, "that it's illegal to impersonate a doctor?"

* * *

_ All this talk about illegitimate children and long lost fathers and marriages I have no memory of are beginning to frighten me. I fear Cora's mental health may be in jeopardy, and I want nothing more than to get her the help she requires._

_ She sits at my kitchen table while I prepare dinner. It is completely unlike her to sit immobile while somebody else does the cooking. Even on days when I don't allow her to prepare the entire meal, she still sits with me while I work._

_ I don't know what's happening._

_ My knife chops though a carrot with a steady rhythm. I add the slices to the large bowl of salad and reach for a tomato when it happens. All these preparations feel so familiar._

_ I've done this before. I've made her vegetarian meals before, and not just here. Somewhere else. A long time ago._

_Tofu. Why do I remember tofu? I was worried she wouldn't like it. I was so worried, I'd spent hours trying to perfect the meal in an effort to impress her the first night she stayed with me on the island. It was always in an effort to impress her._

_Island? What island? Where is this coming from?_

_Cora mentioned an island before. Is this what she meant?_

_And then I see her, in my minds eye, and I drop my knife. It clanks against the countertop._

_"Ben?"_

_I spin around, gasping at the sight of her. She's trying to ask me something, but the sight of her fills my head with a kaleidoscope of memories happy, sad, and every shade in-between._

_We're a team. We're already married._

_Confused, I grip my hair, trying desperately not to envision the soft curves of her body, but closing my eyes only allows the visions to evolve into immensely graphic depictions of her naked—shapely thighs and wide-set hips sloping to a narrow waist that leads up to the peak of large, rounded breasts. I envision it so clearly, so impossibly clear, that it's almost as if I've actually seen her naked before. What was once a dull pain in my chest has blossomed into something much more painful in a far more embarrassing area._

_"Ben?" a panicked voice brings me back from the flashes. I blink them away and find Cora's worried eyes inches from my own. It takes me a moment to realize I've pushed her back against the counter, my body pressed hard against hers._

_ Now that I realize I'm dead, I am consumed with a fascination at the fact that my body still throbs with desire. I lean in until my nose brushes against her neck, breathing her in, and the scent of her only serves to feed this madness._

_I feel her laughter before I hear it, and soon we're both clinging to one another, laughing._

_ "I feel like I've been lied to in some capacity," says Cora._

_ "How's that?" I ask._

_ "If we're dead," she says as she reaches for the sliced cucumbers I'd added to the salad and pops a stack of them in her mouth, "then why am I still hungry?"_

* * *

The Island, Present Day

I wasn't expecting the heart of the island to be so cold. We had to wade through what seemed to be a very small pond to reach this point, and now icy cave water rains down on me, blurring my vision and making it hard to hear what anyone is saying. I cling for dear life to the rope tied around my waist, terrified that I'll lose my balance and topple headfirst over the long drop leading into the cave.

"All set?" fake Jack yells.

I test the rope and nod in affirmation.

Little by little, Ben, Sawyer, and Anjali lower me down into the dark depths. It feels like a lifetime before my feet touch solid ground, and I tug the rope three times to let them know I'm okay.

A chill air ghosts against my skin, and I shiver once I take a good look around. Piled against the sides of the cave are the skeletal remains of men who died trapped down here, unable to climb the steep sheet of rock leading back out into the jungle.

"Stay focused, Cora. What you're looking for is over there," Todd announces with a flick of his tail.

I follow him to a large bubbling pool of light, and the chill is instantly cut away. Wherever this water is coming from, it's heated. Suspended in the middle of the warm pool is a stone pillar of some kind. Judging from the intense light shooting from it, I can only guess I have to remove it.

I take a step into the pool, and I'm greeted with water as warm as a bath. Unfortunately, I'm also greeted with a jolt of what feels like electricity. The shock brings back memories of Dharma, and I lose my balance, screaming as I fall into the pool. As I submerge into the painful electrocutions, I begin to flail with abandon, struggling to breach the surface so I can make the pain stop. Not only is my brain being pierced by waves of white lightning, but memories I'd rather forget about fly to the forefront of my mind, assaulting me with pain I had tried so hard to suppress.

Somehow I make it to the side of the pool and drag myself back on dry land, flopping to safety like a fish.

"What are you doing?" Todd shouts.

I roll onto my back, curling into myself. "I can't," I whisper.

"You can, and you will," he counters angrily. "You have no other choice."

"Please, no," I beg. Nobody warned me that this mission would be both physically and psychologically traumatizing. I've regressed back to the days following my release from the lab. _Please . . . please, just make the pain stop. Make it go away._

"Cora," Todd says, and he takes a seat in front of me, "you are the only one who can survive this mission. Don't you realize why the Dharma kept sending physicists to test your resilience to high levels of electromagnetism? You're the only one capable of pulling this plug. It was always going to be you. Now, get up and finish this."

Todd coaches me back into the pool, and this time when the flashes come, I push forward, screaming out in pain. I reach the stone pillar and wrap my arms around it, tugging with all my might. It doesn't budge, so I pull harder, screaming every swear word in my vocabulary. It dislodges at long last, and I fly backwards into the pool, submerged once again.

This time when I pull myself back on land, I feel wrong. Something is very, very wrong. My answer comes in the form of blood that gushes from my nose with no signs of stopping. Weak with fatigue, I collapse against the stone, trying, to no avail, to stand, as my body flies into a fit of twitches.

"Get up!" Todd yells frantically. "We need to get out of here! Get up!"

The once golden glow of the pool has been replaced with a steamy red light that shoots upwards with an ominous hiss.

_Have I just opened the Gates of Hell? What if Walt really doesn't know what he's doing? My God, what have I done?_

"Cora?" Todd barks with all his might. "Cora!"

I can feel blood pour down the sides of my face and into my slack mouth, but I can do nothing to stop it. I can't even blink. I watch as bits of the cave ceiling crumble and fall down, smashing to pieces all around me. The island is falling apart.

Todd's voice grows faint. It is no time at all before I cannot even hear my own thoughts anymore.


	49. Goodbye Is Not Forever

**I've been gone a while. Sorry. My laptop died (RIP) and this specific Word file was corrupted when I tried to rescue my documents, so . . . yay for that.**

**A big thank you to everyone who stuck around for two years waiting for this to end! You guys are the best. Enjoy.**

* * *

When I was a young girl, before the fighting between my parents was brought to my attention, before I began compulsively eating, before I gained too much weight for it to be a comfortable activity, I remember climbing up into my mother's lap and resting against her bosom. She sat at the kitchen table, a scrapbook of her old life open in front of her. I'd point to pictures and ask questions, probing with a childlike wonder in search of what made my mother who she was. Ever patient, she would explain to me who each person in the photos was, often relating humorous stories from her youth in the process.

As a child, I had believed she was just as amused and cheerful as I was. Now that I am a grown woman of my own, I realize that I had been unable to read the sadness in her eyes. The smile she had given me overshined how she really felt while looking through her memories—she missed her family dearly.

If you had asked me my feelings towards familial bonds before I woke up dazed and confused on the shoreline of this island, I would have given an angry, bitter answer fueled by confusion. I was driven by fear and paranoia, clinging desperately to the faint hope that one day I'd wake up and my parents would love each other again, and I wouldn't be sad anymore.

I don't know why I'm here, but at this point, I no longer care. My old family does not exist, but that doesn't mean I do not have a family. I have a new family. I have people worth fighting to stay alive for, and I'll be damned if I let myself die now.

Here, in the darkness of unconsciousness, I have hope—feelings, however foreign, that one day I will be able to live in peace.

One day I will have a daughter of my own to climb up into my lap and ask for stories. And I will give her what my mother could not give me.

I will smile at her, a true and honest smile.

* * *

The world is ending. I can tell by the sheer might of quaking beneath my fingertips.

"What are you doing?" a faint voice berates me. "Get up, or you'll be smashed to pieces! _GET UP!"_

I open my eyes. "Todd?"

"Stand up, and get out of here!" he barks. "This place is becoming more unstable by the second!"

I taste blood on my tongue and gag, spitting out a mouthful of the copper liquid. Pushing my aching body to my knees makes my head rush, and I sink back down to the ground just as another quake sends a chunk of rock crashing a few feet away. The demolition startles me into action, and I crawl on my hands and knees back to the rope that dropped me down here in the first place.

"Good, good, you're almost there," Todd coaches as I wrap the rope around my midsection. "Blessed girl, I thought you'd never wake up."

* * *

_I let the cool night breeze flow through my hair and over my exposed shoulders. It's a nice night, and the perfect weather only serves to heighten my mood as I watch a group of rowdy children tousle each other's clothes on their way into the cathedral._

_I spot Peter and Walt among the joyful group, but they pay me no mind as they hurry through the doors, laughing at something the other has said. One by one, all of the children who were raised at the Temple hop up the steps towards the rest of infinity. It makes me happy to know they each found one another after death._

_"Lady Cora?"_

_Twisting my torso, I turn to address the young woman standing beside me. Upon recognizing her, I take hold of her hand and pull her down beside me in a tight embrace._

_Anjali pulls away to admire my gown. "Why are you all dressed up?" she asks. "You look beautiful."_

_I squeeze her hands. "Thank you. I just returned from a Christmas party."_

_"Where's your husband?"_

_"Oh," I reply nonchalantly, "I'm not exactly sure. Home, probably." Anjali briefly glances towards the church, but she has not yet released my hands. "You should go," I tell her._

_"What about you?"_

_ "I'm afraid I've made a rather large mess of my life, and now I need to explain myself to the majority of people I knew when I was alive." I heave a sigh at the thought of my parents, Richard, and Jane. "I have a feeling I'll be here a while longer."_

_"That's alright," she confirms with confidence. "I can wait."_

_"What?"_

_"As your coverguard, it is my solemn duty to—"_

_Before she can delve into the speech she so often recited when she was alive, I grasp each side of her face and pull her towards me so I can place a kiss on her forehead._

_I don't doubt Anjali lived to have a long, fulfilling life after I left the island, but her friends are waiting for her. There's no time to ask for her life story, no matter how interesting it may be. "You were a more loyal companion than I could have ever hoped for," I confide, reaching a hand up to brush her dark hair behind an ear. "I'm so thankful you stopped to say goodbye."_

* * *

_The Island, Present Day_

"What happened?" Ben asks the second I'm pulled back up.

"Nice going," Sawyer comments just as a tremor shoots through the island. "What'd you do? Push the Pompeii button?"

I cough up more blood and double over to retch it all out of my system.

"Lady Cora," Anjali announces as soon as I stop coughing, "Jack left. I think he's headed towards the beach."

"We need to follow him," I say, still coughing. "We cannot let him leave the island."

It hits me all at once that I don't know where my daughter is. She left to look for Richard, but she could be anywhere by now. If she runs into Jack, I have no doubt Jane would attempt to avenge Jacob's death. I can't let that happen.

"Which way did he go?" I ask sharply. "We need to find him before Jane does."

* * *

_"Is this seat taken?"_

_ I look up to find, quite possibly, the last man I expected to run into here. Nodding my confirmation, Jack straightens his suit jacket before taking a seat. We sit in silence as more children gather outside the church to reminisce._

_ "They seem happy," Jack comments._

_ "Yes, they do."_

_ We watch in silence as more people gather outside the steps before going into the church. "I'd like to apologize," he says suddenly, catching me off guard. "For my behavior. On the island. I'm . . . not entirely sure what happened, actually. I just remember the feeling of . . . I don't know . . . madness?"_

_ I turn to give him a surprised expression, my eyes widening. "You're going to apologize to me for losing your mind? Me? The woman who once tried to bite a nurse's nose off because I thought I had been genetically altered into a fox?"_

_ Jack huffs a brief, uncomfortable laugh._

_ "The island was a strange place, Jack," I say softly. "A place where a lot of things I wish I never had to experience happened. But I did. As did you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for whatever it was you went through."_

_ "Will you be joining them?" Jack waves a hand towards the children._

_ "No," I answer. "Not right now, at least. I have some things to patch up here first."_

_ "That makes two of us."_

_ "If you've been trying to find Kate," I tell him, "I'm almost positive James has her locked up. I'm sure he can pull a few string if you'd like to talk to her. And Jack?" I add before he can leave. "Thank you. For helping my mother."_

* * *

_The Island, Present Day_

The tremors startled Marty away, and now I rely on Ben's support to help me trudge through the jungle towards the beach. Every once in a while the ground shakes so violently we both lose our balance and stumble to the dirt, scrambling to right ourselves.

"Don't move!"

I look up to figure out where the voice is coming from and find one of Jack's friends aiming a rifle at us. My first instinct is to step in front of Ben, who angrily protests my human shield. Anjali has my bow and arrows, but I commanded her to break the coverguard code and run to the beach to assist Jane in any way she can. I have nothing to defend myself or my husband with.

Before the man can decide whether or not to pull the trigger, a fully-grown elephant charges through the trees, effortlessly lifting the man up with its trunk and tossing him away from us. The flying body smashes against a tree trunk, flopping to the ground, unresponsive. The elephant continues to rage, blasting angry trumpets into the sky and waving its trunk around aggressively.

John Locke and Mr. Eko are seated atop the furious pachyderm.

"Ben?" I whisper.

"Yes?"

"Please tell me you're seeing this."

". . . I think so."

"Cora!" John yells from atop the elephant. "We heard you were over here. Looks like you could use some assistance."

"John?" I ask, blinking back my bewilderment. "What are you doing with an elephant?"

Mr. Eko is the first to slide down—with the assistance of the elephant's trunk—and approach me. "This beauty is Clarice," he rumbles and pats her rough skin. "We've become good friends these past three years."

"Nice to meet you," I tell the elephant. "Have either of you seen Jack?"

John and Eko exchange glances. "Yes," they reply. "He was headed to the cliffs."

* * *

Riding an elephant is almost as difficult as riding a polar bear. It is especially challenging due to my broken ankle, which makes it difficult to clench my legs hard enough to keep from sliding off. Ben and I ride through the jungle at an incredible speed as the elephant belts even more high-pitched trumpets and guttural roars.

As we near the cliffs, I think of what I can do to help. I can barely walk, I have no useful weapon, and I'm still not sure how I'm supposed to defeat an immortal being.

In the end, none of my worries even matter. I've shown up late to a war that was fought without me.

I hear the screeches before I see who's yelling. Urging Clarice to run faster, we round the bend and break through the trees, stomping across the long, flat grassland leading to the rocky cliffside overlooking the ocean. Off in the distance, I see Walt sprinting towards the voice—Peter and another young man trailing closely behind him.

It isn't until I'm right next to the aftermath that I realize what's happened.

I grasp at Clarice's ear, attempting to climb down her side on my own. She lifts her trunk to help support me.

Ignoring my broken ankle, I run past the group gathered at the rocks. Anjali stands off to the side, unable to keep her composure amongst the bodies lying dead at her feet—two young people I've never met. Jack lies sprawled out on his back, three of my arrows in his chest. A whole group of Jack's supporters have been killed, including Sayid, who I never really got the chance to speak to.

I spot Widmore, Eloise, and Daniel huddled off to the side, silently observing the commotion. Seeing Widmore's bloodied face is enough to make my breath catch, but it is his refusal to look me in the eye that makes my stomach plummet. Widmore was supposed to look after Jane, so if he's here, Jane must be, too.

The crowd quickly parts for me, leading a trail to the one person I so desperately wanted to find unscathed.

I smell salty ocean air. I hear the sharp call of a gull. I feel the hot rays of the sun on my skin.

Staring down at my dying daughter, of all things, has made me hyperaware of the world around me.

Jane has suffered multiple stab wounds—two in her shoulder, one in her stomach, and one in her thigh. What I feel is not the correct reaction to finding your daughter bleeding out. I don't feel sad, or angry, or confused. In fact, I don't feel any particular emotion at all. Ilana crouches beside Jane, tying strips of cloth—cut from her own shirt—tightly around Jane's wounds to help stop the bleeding.

Some idiot asks her how she's doing.

Jane recognizes me through flickering eyelids and smiles drowsily. "Is the son of a bitch dead?"

I look up at Walt for confirmation, and he nods. "Yes," I answer.

Jane coughs roughly, still smiling. "Then I'm doing just great."

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" a man franticly commands. "_MOVE!" _Richard bursts in through the crowd, knocking people over as he bulldozes his way to Jane. He sees me first, but his attention is almost instantly averted to the woman lying on the ground in front of me. "What happened?" he asks Ilana.

I watch as the two of them continue patching Jane the best they can. Richard yells for an assortment of medical supplies, all of which Walt and his group cannot produce.

"We need to get her back to the barracks," says Richard. "She's losing too much blood."

Another tremor shoots through the island, and this time it is so powerful a chuck of the cliff beside us cracks and dislodges from the rest of the rock. Richard scoops Jane up into his arms and carries her away from the dangerous crumbling earth.

"What do we do?" I hear a young woman worry. "The island is falling apart! What do we do?"

"I'm getting out of here," I hear another person suggest. "They have a plane back at the beach. If we hurry, we can catch it."

"That little plane can't carry all of us!" a different voice argues. "How do we decide who gets to leave?"

"We're all going to die!"

"Nobody is going to die," I interject, and the panicking group falls silent. "Walt, see to it that my daughter receives the care she needs. And send someone to the beach to keep that plane from leaving. I'm going to stop these earthquakes."

* * *

_As the night carries on, the air grows cooler, and I shiver._

_ A suit jacket is tossed over my shoulders. _

_ "I was wondering when you'd show up." I smile at him. "Anjali was asking about you."_

_ "Had to check on my father." Ben takes a seat next to me on the bench, quiet and contemplative before giving me an uncomfortable expression. "I think he is under the assumption that we're spending the night together. Tried to give me money for a nice hotel room." He shakes his head. "Definitely not a conversation I enjoyed having."_

_ "Well, I mean, he's not wrong."_

_ Ben opens his mouth to reply, realizes what I've said, and blankly stares at me. "He's not?"_

_ "I don't need you to get us a hotel room," I say lightheartedly, trailing my fingers up his chest. "The backseat of your car is roomy enough."_

_ Ben lets out an exasperated exhale. "Insatiable," he murmurs, "even in death. What on earth will your parents think?"_

_"My parents . . ." They don't even know that I have a husband. They never found out that they have eight grandchildren. I never had the chance to tell them what really happened to me after I disappeared. "Ben, if you want to go into the church, I won't hold it against you. There's so much that needs to be said to my parents. So much I never got the chance to say when I was alive. I'm not sure how long I'll have to stay here to sort this all out."_

_ Ben gives a dismissive snort. "I spent 28 years waiting for you to return to the island. I think I've proven myself more than capable of patience worthy of sainthood."_

_"Good to know. Where are your car keys?" I pat his pockets, reaching up to kiss the tip of his nose when he scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. "I wasn't joking about your backseat."_

* * *

The last time I jumped into the electromagnetic pool of torture, it nearly killed me. Third times a charm, I guess.

With Ben, Sawyer, and Anjali's help, I'm hoisted back up into the sunlight, bloodied and tired beyond belief. Physical strain is one thing, but my tiredness stems from an almost spiritual exhaustion.

I'm done with this island.

I want to go home.

* * *

Now that the ground has stopped trembling every few minutes, the crowd gathered by the plane has calmed down enough to rationally decide a seating arrangement. The original Oceanic Six want to leave immediately, all except for Locke. A few of the survivors who were trapped here for the past three years wish to leave, but most—including Rose, Bernard, and Mr. Eko—wish to stay and help rebuild the Temple. To my everlasting surprise, even Widmore and Eloise have decided to stay for Daniel's sake.

"The island healed his mind," Eloise tells me. "He would only revert back to insanity if we left. I've done the poor boy enough harm already. I owe him this much, at least."

Michael has been ostracized by both groups. The Others claim rights over him on the grounds that he is a traitor. The demand that he stays on-island to await trial is unanimous. I find out from Anjali that Jack poisoned his mind with lies about Walt and convinced him that killing Jacob was the only way to reunite him with his son. Now that same son will have full authority over the case, and I'm overwhelmingly thankful to no longer be in power.

Jane—tired as she is—is not quite tired enough not to direct every ounce of anger in his direction. After donating quite a bit of blood, Richard helped her back to the beach to say her goodbyes. Her usual olive skin is pale and damp, the skin around her eyes sagging and red. I squeeze her hand. "We need to get you situated on the plane. It's best if you lie down for the trip. David has offered to—"

"I'm not going," she wheezes.

It takes me a moment to comprehend her words. "What?"

"I'm not going," Jane repeats. "This island is the only home I've ever known. I don't belong out there. I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

David comes up behind me. "What do you mean you're not coming with us? We can get you the medical care you need off-island."

"I'll recover just fine where I am, David."

"This is _insane_," he argues, sounding dangerously close to tears. "We've done nothing but talk about what we would do if we ever had the chance to leave this place. And now you're backing down?"

It is a testament to how injured she is that Jane remains completely calm. "David, you've been the one with wanderlust for as long as I can remember. Don't let me keep you from experiencing the world. I want to stay here, with the children. Help rebuild the school. Teach." Jane looks up at her father and smiles. "Dad will take care of you."

"I can't leave you here," Richard refutes.

"Please, Richard." Jane takes hold of his hand. "Go everywhere he wants. Seeing the world can't be fun all on your own." They exchange a few arguments in Latin, but in the end, Richard respects Jane's wishes.

As a final farewell, I gift Jane my bow and arrows.

"I can't take this," she says. "It was a gift from Jacob."

"And now I'm giving it to you," I answer, closing her hand over the intricately carved wood. "It has served me well. You'll get more use out of it than I will."

"Thank you." There is so much to say, a lifetime of conversations that I'll never have. Jane must sense my distress because she pulls me close in a hug, despite the freshly stitched stab wounds in her stomach. "Be safe," she tells me. "Be happy."

"Take good care of my daughter," I tell Walt on my way to the plane. He nods his reassurance and wishes me well.

The time has come at last to leave, and yet I find myself hesitating. Leaving this wretched island has been my goal since the day I ended up here. I always thought my reality—the one I lived in with my parents and brother and sisters—was the true reality, but I've come to question the possibility that the impossible is, in fact, possible. Who's to say this is or is not reality?

I've spent over three years of my life on this island. This is where I got married, birthed a child, killed and saved lives alike. I've become a very different person as a result of my stay here, and now I question whether or not the new me will adjust well to the world I _used_ to know off-island.

Gripping the handrail leading into the Ajira Airlines flight, I breathe deeply, filling every crevice of my lungs with island air for the last time.

* * *

_Outside, the night is cold, but the inside of Ben's car has been generously warmed by our body heat. All of the windows have fogged over, cutting out what little moonlight once streamed through them. I lie against his chest, my clammy face resting in the crook of his neck. "We were pretty good parents," I whisper into the dark, "weren't we?"_

_ His finger trails idle circles across my damp hip. "I'd like to think so."_

_ "Were you alive for Margo's Monsanto lawsuit?"_

_ "I don't recall."_

_ "First person to successfully sue them. Never had to work another day of her life. Of course," I continue, chuckling, "she kept running her law firm. Always was my little overachiever."_

_ "I'm not surprised," he breathes._

_ "Ben?" I ask tentatively._

_ "Hm?"_

_ "I've been thinking about something a lot lately, and I've decided to go through with it."_

_ "And what grand decision are you referring to?"_

_ "I want to talk to him."_

_ "Talk to who?"_

_ "My birth father."_

_ Ben sits up, pulling me with him. "Why?"_

_ "It's just something I have to do. I'm bringing Brandon with me."_

_ Ben looks ready to scold me, but he ends up sighing instead. "Would you mind if I was in attendance? The very thought of you being anywhere near that man makes my skin crawl."_

_ "Please, do," I say, slightly relieved that he volunteered. "I don't expect you to understand—"_

_ "Trust me," Ben interrupts, "I don't. But I respect your wishes. If you need to talk to him, I'm here to support you."_

_ We end up pressed together again, gasping the same muggy air._

_ "I need to take you home." Ben rests his forehead against mine. "Your parents will have some choice words for me when I drop you off three hours after our original agreed curfew. I'm surprised they haven't called the police yet."_

_ "To be honest," I say, "I'm more worried about what your dad is going to say when you come sneaking in at 4am." His suppressed laugh mirrors my own as we both acknowledge which of us has the worst parental conversation waiting for us at home. "I do not envy you, my friend."_

* * *

It is only after we've taken flight that the full weight of my decision hits me.

Pain shoots through my core at the thought of leaving my daughter behind. Lingering sorrow for the loss of my powers twists my guts until I feel ill. A small, confused part of me even misses the island itself. I reach out for the window and press my fingers against the glass.

I never got to say goodbye to Todd.

"Cora?" Ben asks. "Are you okay?"

"What's in the satchel?"

"Hurley Bird."

"No," I say, "the other one."

Ben produces the wedding gift he gave me all those years ago. "I packed it at the house. Don't know why. It's rather impractical, now that I think about it."

I hold the book close to my chest, a small comfort. "I'm glad you packed it."

Brandon is asleep on the floor next to us. The first thing I plan to do once we've settled into our new life is search for the nation's finest animal prosthetics company. Brandon _will _walk again, if I have anything to say about it.

Most of the people on the plane are in shock, silent as the grave. Half of them are so exhausted they're already asleep. The engine's loud hum makes my head nod. I pull the armrest up and snuggle closer to Ben, resting my head against his chest. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

I listen to the steady beating of his heart, the rhythmic expansion of his lungs through the fabric of his shirt, and I am calmed. "Never mind."

Ben rests a gentle hand on my arm. "Do you want to talk?"

"No," I answer.

"What do you want?"

"I want to sleep."

"Then sleep."

I shift against him. "It's not that simple."

"How can I help?"

I burrow into his shirt, my eyes already flickering shut. "Hold me." I feel his arms wrap around and press me closer to his chest, and my fretfulness lessens.

It will take time to adjust. I haven't lived life off-island in almost four years. For all I know, the outside world is drastically different from the one I lived before. It won't be full of the sounds of nature, like I'm used to. It will be full of people who want to talk to me when I don't want to talk to them. I don't know what might cause me to panic. I don't know what might make me revert back to memories of the Dharma Initiative. The world is a frighteningly big place compared to the island.

But I'll worry about that when the time comes.

For now, I relax against the comforting presence of my husband, and I sleep.

* * *

_September, 16,_ _2036, Michigan_

_Now that Nadine is leaving home to attend college, I'll have mom and dad all to myself. My sisters say I'm spoiled enough and don't need any more encouragement, but I can't wait to be the only child left. Having seven siblings can be difficult, but not so much when you're the youngest._

_ Mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday this year, and I told her I didn't want any more sisters, so I could be the baby of the family forever. Mom laughed so hard she had to excuse herself from the room. Dad told me not to get my hopes up._

_ My parents are weird, but I guess every kid says that._

_ Take my mom, for example. She wears long-sleeves year round, even in the summer when it's scorching outside. She's a lot younger than my father, but she's the one with the cane, and she seems so much more worn out because she has insomnia. Since she rarely gets a full eight hours of sleep at night, she has a habit of dozing off randomly during the day. Mom also has a tiny limp, doesn't like watching TV, is afraid of the microwave beeps, and at the exact same time each day she disappears to feed a pair of ravens who nest in the forest._

_Weirdest of all is my eldest sister says Mom used to talk to our dog Brandon while he was still alive. And I mean she _talked_ to him. No baby-speak or single word commands. She held lengthy and detailed conversations with him as if he could actually understand what she was saying._

_My dad is a lot less weird than my mom. He's just old._

_"Bee," my father shouts from downstairs, "your guests are arriving! Where are you?"_

_I run to my bedroom window and look out at the line of cars in the driveway. My sister Anne, late as usual, hurries across the lawn to the front door with a bouquet of balloons in one hand and a large wrapped box in the other._

_I love, love, love birthdays._

_ "BEATRICE!" My eldest sister, Margo, scoops me up in a bear hug and lifts me off the ground. "Happy birthday, little runt. What are you? Six?"_

_ "I'm ten," I muffle against her shirt._

_ Margo releases me with fake surprise. "Say it ain't so." She looks towards the kitchen and sidesteps me. "Mom! There you are. Boy, do I have a story for you . . ."_

_ Anne shrugs out of her coat and totters over to me, all smiles. "Hello, Bee." Before even giving me my present, she starts aggressively fixing my hair._

_ One by one, my sisters crowd the entryway, laughing and yelling and making so much noise I can't even hear myself think. I watch my gift table fill with presents and clench my fists to contain my shaky excitement. _

_Everyone is here this year, and it takes thirty minutes just to greet them all. Aunt Annie Freeman has dropped by from next door to give me a present. Even my awkward Aunt Jane and crazy Uncle David have flown in from overseas for the party. Jane smiles tersely and David bops my nose and tousles my hair._

_When the noise becomes too overwhelming, I sneak into the kitchen to get a look at the desserts my mother spent all day baking._

_ "What did I tell you about sugar before dinner?"_

_ "Sorry." I put down a cupcake and turn to face my mother. "They look really good. I'm so happy you made all my favorites. This must have taken you a long time, and I'm lucky to have such a wonderful mother as you."_

_ I've learned the hard way that there's no buttering up my mother. Flattery will get me nowhere. If I want something, I have to go to my dad for permission. A few stubborn pouts, and he's unable to say no._

_Mom raises an eyebrow at my compliments. "Thank you, but just because it's your birthday doesn't mean I'm going to let you pass out from a sugar coma. Dinner first, then dessert."_

_ "Oh, Cora, let the poor girl have one treat." Dad has appeared to save the day. Mom looks up with surprise that he's refuted her, and he's quick to defend himself. "It's her birthday."_

_ Another funny thing about my parents is they never, ever yell at each other. They disagree all the time, but their disagreements take place without saying a word. I watch as they have an entire conversation through interesting looks. Finally, my mother's stern expression dissolves into laughter, leaving my father victorious._

_ "One," she tells me._

* * *

_ I got everything I asked for this year._

_ Not that I'm surprised. I always get what I want for birthdays and Christmas and random other holidays where gifts are exchanged. My sisters say I should be thankful I have Mom here to keep Dad from completely caving to my every whim. He laughed, not even bothering to deny it._

_ After I've opened my presents, eaten dinner, and blown out my birthday candles, the guests disperse throughout the house to eat cake and chat about what they've been doing since our last family reunion. I search for Mom to ask if I can have another piece of cake._

_ I find Mom and Dad seated alone on the couch in the living room, far away from the noise. Mom brings a hand up and brushes the backs of her fingers against his cheek, and Dad reaches up to hold it there. They don't say anything, but I know what they're saying. My sisters tell me that Mom and Dad are so in love that the only things on the planet that they love more than each other is us._

_ "Bee?" Mom has spotted me and waves me forward._

_ Forgetting all about my cake request, I hop onto the couch beside them and crawl into Mom's lap, curling up my spindly limbs like a cat. Mom runs her fingers through my hair while Dad rubs circles between my shoulder blades._

_Mom leans forward to kiss my forehead. "Did you get everything you asked for?"_

_ I listen to the thump of her heart—as steady and powerful and constant as she is—and I'm lulled into a drowsy bliss. "Mm-hm."_

_ Dad laughs at the sight of me. "You're getting a little old for the cat lap, don't you think?"_

_ "Never," I refute._

_ "I love you," Mom whispers into my hair. "You know that, don't you, Beatrice?"_

_ "Yes, mama," I whisper back. "I love you, too."_

_ I feel her release a shaky exhale, as if she was worried I would reply with some other answer._

_ My parents are weird. They don't like socializing with other parents at my school. They don't like traveling to big cities. They have an obsession with telling me and my sisters that they love us, and I find myself caught in their embrace almost every chance they get. They both know a lot about the world despite never having had adventures outside this little community. In short, they're pretty boring._

_ But despite being relatively quiet and gentle, Mom turns into a raging bear if someone threatens one of us. Margo told me when she had a bad breakup with her boyfriend in high school, as revenge he started a rumor that Margo had some kind of disease. Mom chased him on foot for over a mile, screaming and swinging a hammer around. The rumor quickly died after that._

_ Mom holds me closer, and I cling to the long sleeves of her shirt. Dad smiles at me, the ends of his eyes crinkling with wrinkles that trail up to his greying hair. Here, wrapped up in their arms, I feel like the safest human being on the face of the earth. I know nothing can hurt me as long as they're near._

_My parents may lead boring lives, but they supported my sisters' decisions to move to places all over the world. No matter what we do, no matter how badly we mess up, they're always right there to help us fix it and move on with our lives. The only truth I know for certain in this world is that they love me as much as I love them._

_I wouldn't have them any other way._


End file.
